


The Reckoning

by Catriona



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Action & Romance, Adventure, Comedy, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2136861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catriona/pseuds/Catriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth returns home to Boston after running away several years before. Working as an accountant, she tries to settle into a normal and mundane life with her peculiar family at the advice of her French friend Eileen. She struggles to forget her past with injustice still around her though, and feels drawn to the irresistible tendencies which were entailed in her old life abroad. Everything turns upside down when she looses her temper in the Green Dragon Inn one night, and beats up members of a street gang who turn on her in bloodthirsty vengeance. Through escape with Connor's help, she gets caught up in the forever battle between the assassins and templars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unwanted Destination

The sea breeze caressed Elizabeth's hair like a lovers touch. It sang and called her home. Home to Boston. It had been seven years since she had set her eyes on the red brick buildings and the spires and towers of the fort that now defined the line where the water kissed the sky. They were still only minuscule, represented as dark blotches, but her heart started to pump quickly at the sight of it.  
Was this right? The reality was finally settling on her like a dreadful shroud. She was really doing it, she was really going back to Boston.  
A part of her wanted to throw herself at the captain’s feet and beg him to turn back. Back to her life that was on the other side of the world now.  
Was she mad?  
Probably. Behind her was a life she had built, now she was insanely rolling the dice to try and start again in a place that she despised. Why on earth was she returning back to the very place she cursed so much?  
Her real family was here (at least, this was where she left them). Guilt at abandoning them crept back into her regardless of the circumstances that called for it, and gnawed at her gut. She had left them, it was true. But perceived betrayal can cause people to act most cruelly.  
Seven years of growing up and yet still some left to do.  
The ship swayed up and down on the gentle waves almost hypnotically. If it wasn’t for the tension in her stomach that made her want to dash to her quarters and hide, she would have found it almost soothing. Almost.  
She bit her lower lip in anticipation, hands tightening around the decomposing wooden banister.  
It was a dull day with the sun hiding behind the clouds - it’s too bad she couldn’t get some of her own to conceal her!  
The seagulls circled high above, acting as connoisseur and welcoming the ship’s last stretch towards land. There were people also on deck, beckoned by the close proximity the vessel now had for shore. An Asian family with young children loitered near the prow which rose and fell sluggishly. A little boy sat happily on his father's shoulders, squealing with laughter as a seagull bravely landed on a crate nearby. It studied him with two beady eyes, cocking it’s head this way and that inquisitively.  
Sailors manning the ship set about busily conducting their tasks for coming into shore - winding up rope, operating pulleys and sails and readying luggage to haul off when the vessel arrived at it’s unwanted destination. They shouted at one another as they milled around.  
Other ships and boats were cruising nearby. Some she recognised as fishing trawlers, others were schooners and frigates of the British, no doubt patrolling the vulnerable waters that surrounded what must be a very precious and strategic spot.  
The dull grey water lapped gently against the hull, continuously staining the wood there.  
More passengers flooded out onto deck, aroused by word of nearing shore now. Some were groups of friends or fellow travelling companions and others, like herself, were on their own.  
She noticed one man who never, it seemed to her, to speak to anyone during the entire course of the voyage. He had paid extra to sleep in one of the roomier cabins which was situated close the captain’s quarters. He always carried a distinctive gold watch and was dressed smartly. He would sit in corners she noticed, nibbling at the air like a lone mouse and had an overly cautious manner about him - one would think he was travelling with pirates and not civilians! His chiseled face gave a smooth finish to his twirled up dark moustache, which made Elizabeth think of the French. He had bushy eyebrows that topped a pair of small fish eyes that seemed to be constantly darting and rolling around. And he was always checking the time.  
Due to sheer boredom on the ship, she had let her imagination run wild on all kinds of theories of who he was and what kind of business he was administering in Boston. Maybe he was a spy for the British, or maybe he was transporting a piece of priceless cargo for a rich client.  
She had decided one day to follow him. She expected to find him snooping or sneaking somewhere on the ship, maybe rousing the underpaid, overworked crew to kill the captain. The captain certainly never seemed suspicious of him though, despite the man’s evading mannerisms. In any case, he was the only intriguing person on the ship worth noting and it had been a long journey - that was about to come to an end.  
A tired cheer went up from the exhausted crew and passengers. Cabin fever had set in a while ago and everyone was desperate to put their feet on sturdy, stable ground again. Elizabeth found it was probably the only advantage for her at getting off in Boston harbour, besides that, there was little else in being stirred up by the sight of it.  
Seven years ago.  
So afraid, so vulnerable. She had cursed herself for giving into the compulsion that fear had set into her then and fleeing. She recalled the lights of Boston, the street torches flickered faintly on the dark skyline that night. Staring out from between crates in the hold of a ship she had snuck onto since she had no money to cross. Sobbing in the dark as quietly as she could so none would hear her. Those lights blurred in her tear stained vision as she felt the break between her and her family and friends, everything she had known had disappeared into the night. It was replaced by rats whose pitiless black eyes reflected the moonlight and hissed at her.  
She was caught. Eventually. She remembered the captain’s disapproving face staring down at her.  
‘We found her hiding amongst the barrels sir, not a bloody pick on ‘er.’  
She had been shaking uncontrollably from a chill she caught and hadn’t seen sunlight for nearly a month.  
‘Please don’t throw me off! I’ll cook and clean - anything you need me to do!’  
Lucky for her, the captain took pity on her and set her to work as a washerwoman. She looked back fondly at the time she had spent with the crew who had taken an interest in the ‘cellar rat’, a nickname she got for obvious reasons.  
She looked up from her reverie to see the ship was close enough now to see people walking about. She sucked in a breath and steadied herself.  
I had to come back, she thought, it’s been too long.  
No correspondence with her family or friends added to a longer silence that stretched as far as the sea between them.  
The gap was closing rapidly now.  
She thought of the idiotic people on her old street and rolled her eyes at the gossip her sudden arrival would probably cause.  
‘Land ho!’ Bellowed one of the crew members.  
The ship sailed past the boardwalk now, aiming to set down between two smaller boats that bobbed gently in the water. A few people walking about looked up at the rotund body of the vessel and it’s weary passengers.  
Her family may not even still be here.  
She picked up the one case she had.  
They may not even still live at the same address.  
She joined the queue of passengers, who were waiting eagerly to get off.  
Her mother would probably slap her for her insolence, not that she cared.  
She rubbed at the red mark that ringed the front of her throat and moved forward to bounce down the gangplank.  
Her mother would probably -  
A scream shot out through the air, giving everyone on the ship and on the port pause.  
It came from one of the passengers who was standing with her ten, no, twelve cases around her.  
Whimpering, she pointed a shaky finger to a man who was lying on the ground, lying in a pool of his own blood. Eyes staring up blankly at the gloomy sky. It was the French moustache man.


	2. Death by a Shanty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Scottish shanty being sung in this chapter is called 'The Daemon Lover' and the author, according to Google, is anonymous. It's about Satan seducing some woman and condemning her to hell for giving into the temptations that he presented to her. Not the most optimistic song but I didn't write it! Enjoy :)

Two years later.

Connor felt the cool night breeze tickle his skin. It carried the sounds of drunken merriment and the stale smell of sweat. Perched on the fractured tiles on the tavern roof, he waited for his target.  
He had arrived an hour earlier before after one of his informants had conveyed the latest information on his next target’s whereabouts.  
An African boy in his late teens, Muhammad came sprinting to the Davenport manor, breathless and nearly collapsing.  
‘I saw him,’ he wheezed, his accent carrying an African lilt to it, ‘he was in company sir, went to that tavern down by the barracks.’  
Connor didn’t waste any time. He had invested too many resources at this stage trying to catch the man already. He donned his robes and went through the familiar motions of arming himself - sword at the waist, hidden blade strapped to wrist and bow and arrows on the back.  
He then made haste and galloped from the Homestead to New York to find the man who had thwarted a potential liberation uprising that had started in the northern part of the city. One that Connor had orchestrated. He knew that if the area was to be free of templar influence the man had to be taken out.  
He tethered his horse at least a mile across the city, near the town’s limit to allow for quick escape into the surrounding forests. He had taken to the small side streets and avoided the red coat patrols which were everywhere.  
The muffled sound of smashed glass could be heard within which was followed by a loud chorus of cackles and hoots.  
He shifted position to avoid becoming too stiff and continued to wait. He was used to that. He did it well through Achilles’s training of him. Waiting was something that had to be done at times, it wasn’t the most exciting part of any of his missions, but it did lend some advantages. Like checking over weapons, scanning for the best escape route and visualising using it over and over again in your mind. Just so you have no issues remembering when you’re actually doing it. It gave some time to also watch the timing of any comings and goings of guards nearby that could present a problem.  
A cry overhead made Connor look up. An eagle soared above, wheeling over him a couple of times before gliding off deeper into the town. His dark eyes watched it from beneath his hood, seeing it’s head moving side to side, piercing yellow eyes scanning for prey. It eventually faded away until was only a speck in the distance, and finally melted into the night sky.  
The festivities continued beneath him.  
When Connor had first arrived, he could hear the low busy hum of conversations, like the noise one might hear from a beehive. But it had escalated now to drunken laughter, shouts, cat calls and hoots as more alcohol was being consumed. A few men had been thrown out already. One of them scrambled up clumsily, trying to unashamedly pull up his trousers, belched loudly and swaggered off to find another tavern. A few had also tried to get back in and not one or two received a black eye for it. A typical nights banter.  
If Connor wasn't working that night he might have laughed at them.  
Might have.  
Probably not.  
A few minutes passed by.  
He was in the middle of going over the schedule of exports for next week from the Homestead in his head when a man stumbled out. He straightened himself up awkwardly, and swayed into the narrow alleyway beside the tavern. He slumped against the wall with one arm and started to piss.  
‘Aaaaahhhhh.’  
Connor recognised him instantly and crept slowly to the edge above, careful not to make a sound. Creeping around rooftops had become second nature to him over the years. Like how to avoid stepping on cracked tiles as they can make a noise that sounds like a page being ripped in a library. Perfect silence was always key. That, and never getting caught. Connor could count on one hand how many times he had been captured, and interrogation was no fun and games.  
He lowered himself to put all his weight on his ankles, forearms resting on his knees and watched him for a moment. He wanted to be sure he was truly alone, with no intoxicated friends or enemies coming out to follow him from the boozed-up inferno that was firing up inside.  
The man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties and who wore a tam o’shanter hat that had fallen down on one side of his head, leaned back as he continued to power out one serious gush of urine. His face was ruddy, chubby and scarlet red from drink. And he stank of it.  
He tilted his head back and began to sing a Scottish shanty.  
‘'O where have you been, my long, long loooooove,  
This long seven years and maiiiiir?'  
'O I'm come to seek my former vooooows  
Ye granted me befooooore.'  
He continued to howl and crow as Connor reared up slightly into a crouch. He released the hidden blade with a distinctive snick sound.  
The man opened his bleary eyes, and frowned up at the dark figure perched on the roof above. He saw the slim, steel blade reflecting in the darkness.  
Before he could scream Connor leapt down from the ledge, white robes flying behind him, and stuck it into the man’s left eye socket. The blade protruded successfully from the other side of the man’s head, now covered in blood and brain matter. The man hiccuped a few times, body jerking in shock as his one eye stared out dumbly.  
Death by a shanty.  
Connor withdrew the blade slowly back and he collapsed into a twitching heap.  
He looked quickly about to ensure he hadn't been seen and dashed towards the escape route he had mapped out in his head.  
As he meandered his way back through the streets, he heard the familiar sounds of screams and exclamations of dismay and horror behind him.  
He always left death in his wake.  
He was an assassin.


	3. Gathering Black Clouds and Rain Storms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one I kinda threw up fast. Soz for any grammatical/spelling mistakes. I try to get them all as I possibly can, but there are always one or two that seem to get through.

Elizabeth scanned through the monthly expenses for Bernand & Sons Ltd, poring over all the details. They weren’t adding up. Well, maybe it wasn’t that they weren’t adding up, but more to do with the fact that they were adding up to too much. Someone was over spending the on company’s budget. Again. And as usual, it was under ‘personal expenses’ on behalf of the board of directors.  
She sighed. She would have to tell Terrence about this. If the expenditure continued at this rate, the company could land themselves in negative profit.  
Bernard & Sons was a relatively small company in the business of shipping. Despite the unstable political situation Boston had found itself in, the company was still making a mint. But if this colossal spending continued, and there was no end put to certain lavish traits, they could become bankrupt and go into liquidation.  
Elizabeth laid the sheets down on her work desk. Her office was small and had just one other desk in it which belonged to Terrence. Most of the time though he was either out pitching to new prospects, or overseeing operations down at the docks so she was used to working away with little supervision.  
The window next to her work area was open and with it came the sounds of horses clip-clopping on the flag stoned pavement outside. Carts trundled by and vendors were out in full force, selling their produce and wares. They bellowed all over the street below repeatedly, just in case none had heard of their deal of five apples and three oranges for a shilling the last twenty times that they shouted it. The rancid smell of fish jump started her nostrils and she wrinkled her nose at it.  
The office was naturally located close to the harbour and the distant screeching of hungry seagulls could be overheard, lured in by the mounds of fish that were brought in everyday.  
A warm breeze wafted in, gently rustling the papers on her desk.  
She pulled her notepad over and scribbled down a reminder to flag the issue with Terrence with her feathered quill. She had let it slide for the past two months only because the business was doing so well, but sales can go up and down depending on season. Besides, she didn’t want him staring at her with a questioning brow a few months from now when the company crashed. She was the financial appointee after all.  
She pulled out her sales day book and abacus and began to count.  
Back when she had only arrived in Boston, she was jobless and had barely a penny to her name. She was desperate to seek out work and to establish a steady stream of income to survive. Establish a new life like so many of the other colonial settlers. Despite learning accountancy on her travels, and having no commitment to a family or children, none would take her.  
She knew why. Because she was a woman and it made her blood boil. There weren’t many women in professional, qualified jobs so she found it hard for anyone to take her, and her experience, seriously.  
She came to Terrence after seeing the occupational sign in the window, exhausted from walking around all day looking for work. There was something in his welcoming manner and generosity that he exerted towards her, a stranger, which she liked and she immediately warmed to him. He chose her from a fine selection of promising young men and she always strove since then to make sure he never regretted his choice. She was punctual, honest, organised and tried to be as flexible with hours as she could. As far as she was concerned, he had thrown her a lifeline when she was drowning, and she was forever grateful for it.  
The office door opened, and the man himself walked in.  
‘Good afternoon Elizabeth!’ He said cheerfully. He took his hat and coat off and put them on the coat rack by the door.  
‘Beautiful day outside, I say we’re getting closer to summer now.’ He chimed.  
She smiled at him. ‘Could almost go swimming again.’  
His face lit up at the idea. ‘Exactly! No messages for me?’  
‘Uh no.’ Now is probably as good a time as any.  
‘Terrence? I’ve been going through the expenses in some great detail, just recently. To be honest, they seem ah, a bit high for the past few months now.’  
He frowned in concern, his brown eyes focusing on her with worry. ‘Really? Can I see?’  
She dug under a pile of papers and handed him a sheet.  
He stood in silence for a minute, his frown deepening as he continued to review the figures. Terrence was in his forties and quite lanky. His dark hair was smoothly combed back to flick out slightly at the nape of his neck, and he was starting to grey out at the roots too.  
‘I see.’  
‘It seems - just from looking at it for a good decent hour - that the bulk of the increase is from personal expenses.’ She added awkwardly.  
He stared a little longer before handing it back.  
‘Thank you for bringing this up with me.’  
‘No problem.’  
After the ticking clock on the wall turned five, Elizabeth finished up. She said goodbye to Terrence, who was as usual lost in the midst of the forest of papers that dominated his desk. Leaving the key as she always did under the flower pot outside, she descended the steps that led up to the front door and headed for the town’s main square to meet her friend Eileen. She had left a very ambiguous note at her house just that morning, requesting to meet her on some ‘exciting news’. Time to find what all the fuss was about I suppose, she thought dimly.

Connor leaned back into his chair and rubbed his eyes. He had been up half the night with Stephane and his fellow brothers devising a strategy to deal with the new influx of templars that had arrived in New York late last month. Just as their influence over the town’s officials and people had begun to wane, no thanks to the assassin’s efforts, a fresh wave of new recruits had assailed the American shore.  
Connor had been in talks with local land contractors to give back some native land to a nearby tribe when they showed up. The talks then turned to hushes and dissolved quickly after that.  
He was angered at watching more land falling into the hands of the non-deserving, greedy settlers, but it was nothing new for him. He had conducted dozens of these sessions with property buyers in the past, some were successful, others demanded force from him. But he always tried to leave the second option til last these days.  
He was currently sitting in the Davenport manor’s living room. A portrait of Achilles, his now deceased mentor, hung on the wall. A much younger version of him with his family stared out with warm smiles. Connor fancied the painting was done during a happier time of his life, when he didn’t think of death or that his family would pass away long before he did. He thought for a moment of all the unseen memories this lonely house must hold in it’s bowels, how it filled every seemingly empty corner that now sat silent. Like the ghostly wisps that linger after a candle is blown out. He wondered if he could ever give it back it’s spark again, bring it back to life, perhaps with a family of his own.  
He stood up and made his way towards the front of the house. The interior of the manor was comfortable with cushioned chairs, a snug fireplace and panelled walls. The wooden floor had thick, woollen rugs thrown over it and there were a few vacant rooms upstairs. The smell of rosemary and homely cooking hung in the air as Mary prepared dinner, and clambering sounds of pots and pans could be heard from the kitchen in the back.  
He stepped out onto the porch, his footsteps reverberating on the hollow floor there and leaned against one of the beams.  
It was a warm day. It was a time of the year where it wasn’t fully summer just yet. The fresh remnants of spring and renewal still permeated the grass and morning air. The trees and flowers were blooming but hadn’t fully blossomed just yet. Bees hovered around, lazily buzzing from one nectar-filled bud to another.  
He sucked the pollen soaked air in through his nose deeply and exhaled. Feeling some of the tension drain away from him. Some.  
He heard reluctant footsteps approach from behind. He turned to see Mary, hands clutching at a piece of clothing. Her hands wrung around it nervously and he realised it was one of his shirts, flecked with bloody spots that weren’t his.  
‘Will you be gone again Connor?’ she asked apprehensively.  
Since Achilles’s death, he had noticed a definite change in her. She retreated into her shell like a timid turtle, and went about her tasks more robotically, not bothering with light conversation or any kind conversation. He thought also perhaps she was more uneasy of him too.  
‘Yes, I sail for Boston in the next day or so. Can you please arrange for my supplies? I think it will be a short stay.’  
She nodded. ‘Of course.’  
She turned and went back towards the back of the manor. He thought he could hear a little sigh of relief follow in her trail.  
Despite the storybook fairytale scene unfolding everywhere, Connor could already feel the darkness creeping back into his mind. It was gathering black clouds and rain storms in comparison to the beautiful day outside.  
Strapping his tomahawk to his back, he started out on his typical route towards the Davenport harbour, picking his way through the trees. Over the years, he now knew each one of them on an individual basis. There was the one that leaned too far to the right, the one with half it’s gnarled roots exposed so it looked like a gigantic octopus was living underneath it, and was trying to break free. The other one that had fallen years ago during a storm and was the perfect runway for Connor to get access into the tree branches above.  
He looked further ahead and he saw the Aquila, his ship, that sat in the port today. The sails were wrapped in and he could see the small moving specks of men working away on it’s deck. The water sparkled luxuriously in the little bay and not far from the ship and it’s jetty, sat a workhouse where most of the timber business was conducted.  
He sped up his pace with a determined stride at the sight of it.  
Where did the templars always gather in Boston?  
It was time he scoped out the Green Dragon again.


	4. A Solemn Procession

Elizabeth walked through the crowds that streamed the streets like blood through arteries. Jagged potholes carved into the littered strewn ground were a common ailment in this busy part of Boston, along with dreary cracked buildings and people trying to sell you useless items. The odd time, a travelling salesperson would pitch a ‘miracle juice’ for cures of various illnesses, but the soldiers usually moved them on.   
There was one such sort however on the street today, gathering curious onlookers. He was dressed in a respectable suit with a small wooden stand next to him, displaying an array of opaque bottles with a dodgy looking murky liquid swirling inside them.  
‘And I tell you, it was passed down from generation to generation in my family ladies and gentlemen, and it works wonders...’  
Stalls lined the street and people were still haggling away late into the evening. Their strained voices raised to hear each other in the midst of the noisy throng.  
She walked on through to emerge into the square where she usually met Eileen.  
Boston….Elizabeth tried to pick up where she had left off in this place, but it only seemed to get harder when she thought it would get easier. Even now she could still feel the presence of the pain of her past here. It blossomed in her chest like a thorny black flower, making it hard for her to breath. She felt like she stood in the shadow of a looming mountain, a stubborn monolith that refused to move out of her way and let her get on with her life. Whatever that was anymore. Despite her job and getting her friends and family back, it wasn’t having the impact on her that she expected. She felt disappointed at her lack of satisfaction, even impatient as she tried to will herself to settle down into a life that she simultaneously admonished at. She hated to admit it, but she felt like at times she was a wandering ghost here, devoid of anything that kept her rooted to this place.  
I want to leave….  
A solemn procession snapped her from her brooding thoughts. The people in the square were giving a cautious wide berth around a group of slaves who had entered it. Their soulless eyes trailed aimlessly around, their faces a mask of hopelessness and doom. The usual banter that filled the square had died down a little.   
They were chained at the neck and ankles and were each wearing a filthy potato sack. Slavers walked about them, armed to the teeth, holding chains and pulling them along like dogs. Some of them only looked to be as young as twelve and their skin was caked in soot and dried mud.  
Anger flared up inside her and she felt her hand twitch, a striving of something she thought had died. People in the square looked away, trying to display an ignorant and neutral façade but Elizabeth couldn’t take her eyes off of them. She watched them pass her by, feeling the distant yet familiar boil rise inside her. She had the sudden urge to go home and get her -  
‘Elizabeth!’  
She whirled around to see Eileen. Her glorious green eyes twinkled at her and her dark auburn hard shone in the evening sunlight. She seemed to be almost hopping on the ground where she stood, like an overly excited energizer bunny.   
‘I have news - can’t wait to tell you.’ she chirped in her curved French accent.  
She linked her arm in hers, steering her away from the walkers of the damned.   
‘Let’s get ourselves over to Pierre’s chocolatier, I need to tell you everything over a hot chocolate and marshmallows!’  
Her skirts swivelled contentedly next to Elizabeth’s standard work trousers.   
She glanced back to see the last of the ill-fated prisoners, a woman whose impassive face was lined with scars, disappear from sight.

‘His name is Stephane.’ Eileen cooed, twirling her long silver spoon in her steaming hot mug.   
The place was jam packed with Pierre himself behind the counter, sweat running down his face as he and his two assistants laboured to keep up with the demands of the queuing customers. Some were squealing children, impatient for it to be their turn and others, like Elizabeth and Eileen, had managed to get a seat in the buzzed up place that had made it’s name in Boston as the best chocolate house around.  
‘Ah, alright.’  
Elieen blinked.  
‘Any questions? Anything better than ‘alright’?’  
Elizabeth was still disturbed from her encounter in the square, and she looked out the window distractedly.  
Eileen’s face became concerned. ‘What? What’s wrong?’  
She shook her head. ‘Ah nothing, really, I’m just...’  
Her eyes went back to Eileen, and she grudgingly pressed on.  
‘Sorry Eileen, I’ve been thinking a lot of late. Of everything. Of everyone and I don’t want to disappoint anyone again by leaving. I can’t seem to like anything anymore. I can’t like anything here. You saw the slaves today? Can you believe they actually brought them through the town centre, the slavers that is. It’s just so wrong and tragic and someone should-’  
‘Lizzy.’ Eileen interrupted. ‘Remember what I said? You need more time here, to get all that mess you have in your head from being away for so long. If you could try -’  
‘I have been trying!’  
A few people glanced over and Elizabeth struggled to be at peace with herself.  
‘I’ve really been trying.’   
She could hear the emotion mar her words as she spoke, feeling her vocal chords choke up as she tried to voice what she felt pent up inside.  
‘It’s been two years since I got back and I’ve been good. I have a respectable job, I’ve been spending time with you, doing my tasks at home, but I’m not -’   
She searched to find the right words.  
‘I’m not living.’  
She wanted to add that she felt sorry for returning to Boston but didn’t want to hurt her friend’s feelings. She had left Eileen once long ago and she didn’t want to do it again. But the cost seemed so great.  
Eileen sighed and stared at her sympathetically. Her lips pursed together as she watched her.  
‘Oh dear Lizzy.’  
She reached across the tabletop and took her hand.   
‘What are we to do with you?’ she said, half-smiling.  
Elizabeth squeezed her hand back appreciatively.   
Eileen studied her face for a few seconds longer and pulled back.  
‘Look.’ she said, ‘I want you to meet him, he’ll be at the Green Dragon inn tonight.’  
Elizabeth opened her mouth but she held up her index finger, like a teacher correcting a student.  
‘No excuses - you’re coming. You and me need to go out, drink and see people - anyone! And be merry! It’s been ages.’  
She then nodded once after speaking as if that finalised matters.  
‘Anyone as in drunken, smelly old men that have as much body hair as a chimp? You know the normal clientele at that place.’  
Eileen dismissed it with a wave of her hand.  
‘We’ll be with Stephane and his friends. We’ll be fine once we stay with them.’  
‘If anyone touches me they’re getting a dagger in the gut.’  
Her face brightened and she held her arms out as if she were singing in a joyful musical.  
‘Ah! So you will come? Great.’  
Elizabeth giggled and sipped her hot chocolate. The temperature was just right and the sultry, tasty flavour set her taste buds wanting for more.   
Curious now, about this new Stephane man in her life, she realised she wanted to know more about him. She decided that going out tonight would be the perfect opportunity to suss him out, make sure he was decent and deserving of Eileen’s affection.  
‘How did you meet him?’  
She flipped her hair back and launched herself enthusiastically into the back story.  
‘Well, I was out with mother and we stopped off at this restaurant not too far from here. He’s a chef there - a man who knows how to cook! What a plus! He asked us if we wanted to have a taste of this new recipe he had cooked up….’

‘Connor! I received your message, it was well timed!’  
Stephane greeted him as he stepped off the Aquila in Boston harbour. He was attired in his captain’s uniform which was of gold buttons and threading, complete with a deep, navy blue coat and continental formal hat.   
Connor waved his fellow seamen goodbye who saluted him back.  
They started to walk along the jetty together, which had several other vessels moored to it. Fat sacks and crates occupied the walkway on either side along with ropes and nettings draped around. Tanned sailors moved around them, transporting goods off and onto ships. The pungent smell of fish was everywhere but the evening air was still, no wind always meant good strong gusts the next day.  
‘Are the men ready?’  
‘Yes, they know of our plans.’  
‘Since driving most of them out...I don’t know Stephane. I just have this feeling that it won’t be too long until the templars will try to make another move.’  
They made their way around a large pile of dead, slimy fish. Their lidless black eyes staring out at nothing, mouths hung open. Men worked around it as they tried to lift the net that encased them all - a deadly trap for the unfortunate sea munchers.  
‘I have a suggestion.’  
Connor stopped and looked at him.  
‘I have made arrangements for tonight. A gathering for us all, at the Green Dragon.’  
Connor frowned.  
‘If we enter in the guise of a few men looking for a good time, a few drinks, a few laughs, it could provide the ideal cover as we size the place out. See what is left of the templars here. Take out the few remaining members. It will take years for them to build themselves back up after that.’  
Connor looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded.  
‘Enter in as interested customers, it is a good idea.’  
‘Also, I have someone special coming.’  
He shifted on his feet a little, looking embarrassed.  
‘Her name is Eileen. I wanted you and the others to meet her.’  
Connor smirked at him. ‘So there is another reason for us going out tonight.’ He clapped his hand on his shoulder.  
‘I look forward to meeting her. But since we’ll be in the presence of a woman, maybe we should try to behave ourselves.’  
Stephane smirked likewise and they started to walk again.  
‘Connor?’  
‘Yes?’  
‘Try to wear something less conspicuous than usual.’  
He smiled coyly.  
‘I'm sure I can find something for the occasion.’


	5. The Terrible Twosome

‘Aaaaand don’t you remember last year? When your cousin Timothy came to visit? He’s a smart lad, obviously not smart enough since he chased after you during his entire stay!’  
How could Elizabeth forget? Timothy with his freckles, a shock of red hair and the massive gap between his two front teeth. He did have a nice and respectful disposition though that she liked. But it didn’t exactly mean that she was going to leap into a bridal gown, find herself a bunch of flowers and run off to the nearest church with him.   
Marriage wasn’t for Elizabeth.   
Once had been enough.   
She was sitting in the front living room of the humble house her and her family occupied. It hadn’t changed much in the years that she had left. There was still the pokey front garden with dead flowers drooping in it. There were two bedrooms in total. One for her and her mother and the attic for her two younger sisters, who spent too much time giggling and getting up to all kinds of mischief. Her mother said if they were still in Ireland she would of taken them to the fair. ‘When they marry, they’ll settle’, she would say with a level of definiteness. Settle indeed. They were a bad influence on each other and continued to harass their lonesome neighbour Mr. Craft, an old man in his late sixties who had a disdain for children and devious teenage girls.   
‘I nearly dropped dead when Eileen told me you were going out - to the Green Dragon of all places! Do you know you won’t find one decent man in that place? You’re much better off heading over to Lanagans, some good single hard-working men drinking over there.’ she trilled in her musical voice.  
Her mother was bent over her needlework in the extravagantly cushioned chair she always occupied by the antique fireplace.  
Elizabeth rolled her eyes.  
‘Enough of your attempts to match me with someone. I’m going with Eileen there because she wants me to meet her boyfriend.’  
A disturbing thought then occurred to her. ‘How do you know single men converse at Lanagans?’  
Her mother blustered for a few moments, then resolved to another topic. ‘Why aren’t you gettin’ ready? You should at least make yourself decent lookin’.’  
She scoffed. ‘What, for that shit hole?’  
‘Watch your language! I don’t want your sisters picking up your bad habits.’  
‘They have enough bad habits of their own.’ she muttered.   
Elizabeth left to go upstairs where she encountered the terrible twosome on the creaky landing.   
Their dark hair stood out in contrast to Elizabeth’s blonde. Aged both fifteen, their fresh, youthful faces were the perfect mask to compensate for the brewing inferno that blazed inside.  
Twins. Her mother always cursed her luck for having them. ‘I didn’t realise when I got pregnant again that it would be two mouths to feed in one go! Where does God think I have the money for that?’ She’d say to people. And it was embarrassing.  
The twins commanded electric blue eyes and long, dark eyelashes that blinked at Elizabeth innocently. They would be the last suspects in church when the donation box went missing.  
‘We heard you’re going out tonight - to drink alcohol!’ stated one of them, as if drinking was one of the greatest sins mankind never dared to tempt. The other one then took over.  
‘Are you going to Lanagans like mother said?’  
‘Eavesdropping again were you?’ Elizabeth asked suspiciously.  
They both glanced at each other.  
‘Well,’ she continued, stepping around them, ‘if you must know Eileen has-’  
‘A boyfriend.’ they said simultaneously.  
She sighed and walked to her bedroom door. They followed.  
‘You know Bethany, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Elizabeth do much in her spare time from her boring job. Besides of course, from staring at that chest she has in her room.’  
‘No Annabelle,’ replied the other sister whimsically, ‘we don’t see her do much besides.’  
Elizabeth froze. She rounded them. ‘What do you know about my chest?’  
The girls looked at each other, then back at her owl-like. It was almost comical to watch their synchronisation. ‘Only that it holds something you don’t want anyone else to know about.’ said Bethany, with a look of hungry curiosity on her pretty dimpled face.   
‘Something from your travels.’ whispered Annabelle, her voice hushed as if conveying some scandalous affair. She let the words hang in the air between them, casting a cheeky hint of secrecy.   
Elizabeth folded her arms sternly. ‘First of all, don’t ever go into my room when I’m not here.’  
The twins blinked nonchalantly.  
‘Second of all, you both really need to find a pastime better than tormenting our poor neighbour with your tricks.’  
With that, she entered her room and shut the door firmly behind her.

A knock on the door signified Stephane’s arrival. Connor finished buttoning his shirt and looked himself over in the body length mirror.   
He was an obvious native. Despite being half cast in blood, he couldn’t hide his dark skin or his pitch black hair which he had tied back with a red ribbon. His brown eyes were set darker than usual as his pupils were enlarged, adjusting to the night time which had fallen outside while he was getting ready. His prominent cheekbones and angular jawline looked as if it was set in stone beneath his heavy set eyes, and his lips looked fuller more so than the average caucasian, pushing him further away from looking even remotely close to generic. At least his fellow assassins might help him to blend in.  
There was no hood tonight. Abandoning his assassin robes for standard civilian clothing made him feel naked and exposed, but he wouldn’t go in totally unarmed. He strapped his hidden blade to his arm and put a knife on the inside of his boot. Lightly armed would be best. He wasn’t expecting any fights tonight but he’d seen enough surprises to bring one or two weapons with him. And he never left without his hidden blade anywhere.   
He had rented a single room for just the night in an inn off Union street. The bare room had the bed, one tarnished wardrobe and a dresser. Connor’s unpacked luggage still sat at the door.  
He rotated his sword arm in the mirror. He had concealed his hidden blade under his sleeve and wanted to ensure that it didn’t look too bulky.  
Another insistent knock came.  
He opened the door to find Stephane dressed more finely than himself.  
He likewise had a ribbon in his hair, but his shirt had more colourful threading woven into it and was sleek dark compared to Connor’s plain white. He thought he could get the faint smell of cologne off of him.  
He smiled as he looked him up and down. ‘Eileen will be pleased with your efforts!’  
Stephane reddened a little and hooked his thumbs through his trouser belt. ‘Wanted to make a special effort, come on.’  
They met Jacob and Duncan on the corner of Union street. They were dressed similar in casual clothing, but Connor caught the glint of a blade under Duncan’s sleeve.   
They passed stumbling men and women, already jarred from the night’s amusements and pleasantries. A few were so far gone, they seemed to forget themselves in the midst of their gaiety and begun to behave promiscuously.  
A troop of redcoats drilled passed, their guns propped up against their shoulders. They marched onwards, moving as one and even the most sauced drunkards launched themselves inelegantly out of their way. For no apparent reason, one of the men near the back of the squad stopped and jammed the butt of his gun into a bystander’s stomach (who happened to be sober). The man bent over in agony and slumped against the wall. A few of the soldiers in the unit sniggered. The man’s eyes flickered with hatred at the troop but didn’t reciprocate.  
Connor felt Stephane’s hand on his wrist. When he looked down, he realised he was reaching for his knife.  
Stephane nodded his head in the direction of the inn. ‘Keep focused on the real and bigger enemies.’  
He nodded grimly and they reached the infamous tavern. There were stables located at the side for travelling guests and it was decently sized compared to most drinking spots around the town. A steel cut-out of a green dragon swayed lightly above the front door. Even from outside the banter could be heard and through the window, he saw someone who was doubled over in laughter, fall off of his stool.  
Yes, this should be an enjoyable evening.


	6. Does it Sound Like Freedom to You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one I lashed up quickly as I'm trying to get the remaining chapters up before I go travelling - yikes I don't have much time left! Once again, there's probably a few grammatical errors and whatnot in the text below, just try to ignore them and continue reading on! Forget to mention, any feedback on anything let us know. All feedback (negative and positive) and kudos are greatly appreciated :). Hope you're enjoying the story so far.

Inside, Stephane volunteered to get the first round of beers. The remaining three picked a corner near the back that offered a good viewing spot of the whole interior of the drinking house.  
The air was thick and hazy from pipe smoke, curling lavishly around tables where big congregations were going on. The floor was sticky and already pieces of shattered glass were scattered about, being kicked up by passing feet. The room was was dimly lit by candles and lamps and was buzzing with noise as people were conversing everywhere, throwing their hands up in what must be some seriously intense conversations. One man was passed out on the floor snoring with an empty beer mug in his hand. Fellow drinkers ignored him and casually stepped over him without a second look.   
There was an arm wrestling competition in session near a small stand of musicians that seemed to gather an excited crowd. Two men sat at a table, arms and eyes locked in battle. Beads of sweat ran down their red, pulsating faces. A few people were yelling for one side or the other to win.  
‘Ah would ye come on Jhonny! Ye’ve ‘ad worse than ‘im!’  
‘I bet one pound on you to win Bernard! Put your back into it!’  
Barmaids swished around. Their white lace dresses revealing the vast majority of their cleavage. They smiled and winked at customers, heavily invested in the tipping cause.  
Stephane picked his way across from the bar, holding the beers high above his head and settled them down nicely onto their table. ‘Full house tonight!’ he exclaimed, eyes dancing with merriment.  
Connor scanned the crowds for any familiar faces. He couldn’t find any.  
‘Well,’ said Jacob, leaning back on his stool, which was in danger of collapsing. One of the three legs was shorter than the others, making it rock a little. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve stepped foot in here,’ he brought his jar to his lips, ‘hasn’t changed much.’ His eyes roved around the rowdy room.   
Stephane sat down and leaned in. ‘Can’t say that I see anyone.’ he said lowly.  
Jacob looked at him. ‘Me neither, perhaps we ran them out after your stunt in New York, Connor. At this rate, we’ll do too much of a good job and become bored with ourselves.’  
Connor shrugged in response. ‘Perhaps. I don’t sense any unusual presence here. Most the of the patrons seem...’  
‘To be out on the lash?’ joked Duncan, in his light, fanciful Irish accent.  
Connor smiled wanly. ‘Yes, they look to be uh….out for a good time indeed.’  
Jacob chuckled and everyone looked at him questioningly. His eyes twinkled around the table. ‘Do you remember the mission up north? I had to disguise myself as a crying drunk over my ‘wife’ leaving me?’ He jabbed his finger accusingly in Duncan’s direction. ‘And you! You gave me that scotch ‘to help me get into character’ and hadn’t diluted it!’  
Duncan held his hands up in defense. ‘I forgot! Sure the redcoats were halfway up the bloody road, I didn’t get time! And I told ye’, ye’ just didn’t hear me!’  
‘And I took a trip with king George’s men to a cell because of it! I was so pissed, I couldn’t even kill one of the bastards. Was practically carried into the barracks.’ He took a big gulp of his mug and slammed it down, beer sloshing onto the table.  
‘I came and got ye didn’t I? Had to fight my way through ten of them, and all because you wouldn’t shut up!’  
Stephane and Connor looked at each other.  
‘Yeah’, replied Jacob, ‘because you got me more pissed than a scoundrel pirate!’  
Duncan stood up. ‘Ah lads, I’ve had enough of this talk now, I’m going for a piss.’  
‘Make sure you use the side alley and so no redcoat spots you.’ said Stephane.  
‘And here I was thinking we were consuming our beverages at the Green Dragon inn like civilised gentlemen.’  
The men laughed and he headed for the back door with Jacob burning a hole in his back.  
He turned to them. ‘You know, I still don’t remember half of what happened that night. The next morning I was lying in a barn with Duncan trying to steal two horses for us.’ He exhaled. ‘What a disaster that was, just a word of warning to you men,’ he picked up his jar, which was now only half full, ‘don’t ever try to use alcohol as inspiration to act as a drunken idiot. It worked, but perhaps a little too well!’ And with that, knocked back some more of his beer.  
‘I’ll try to remember that.’ Connor said, with a smile playing around his lips.  
‘Stephane!’  
At the door was a young woman, with dark red hair still blustering from the wind that caught up behind her as she walked in from outside. Her pale skin glowed in the soft candlelight of the tavern. Elation and affection shone in her eyes. Stephane lit up likewise when he saw her and smiled like a five year old. He waved her over.  
Connor saw she was holding hands with another young woman who trailed behind her with her head bowed. She seemed less enthused and her blue eyes darted around as if trying to spot the nearest exit.   
The red haired woman stopped and turned to something to her. She relaxed her shoulders a little as she spoke, nodding in comprehension, then replied back in turn. From her moving lips, he thought she had said something like ‘be careful’.  
Stephane held his arms out lovingly as she walked up and hugged him tightly. They greeted each other in the traditional French way of kissing each others cheeks.  
She pulled her long coat off. ‘So? You going to introduce me to your friends?’ Her cheeks were sensitively flushed and her lips a delicate rouge red. He could tell from her musical accent she was French and seemed to be open and warm in comparison to the other woman, who was withdrawn and quiet. In contrast to the woman’s red hair, she had long fair hair with pale freckles on her nose that dotted also around her eyes. Her face was oval with the other woman’s being heart-shaped and homely. Her body language showed that she was a little tense but she gave nothing away. Her eyes fell on Connor but dashed away quickly to study the cheap paintings on the walls.  
‘This is Eileen.’ said Stephane proudly, his face beaming with joy.  
Jacob took her hand kissed it. ‘Honour to make your acquaintance.’  
Eileen blushed, but seemed charmed. ‘You too. Eh, and your name?’  
‘Ah, Jacob.’ She nodded curtly.  
‘And this is Connor.’ He shook hands with her.  
She unwrapped her long, silk scarf around her neck and she leaned into Stephane. ‘It’s very loud isn’t it? And I don’t see many women customers in this place.’ Even though it sounded like a complaint, she came across as good natured and laid back. Connor found himself instantly liking her. The other however…  
Eileen turned, almost having to coax the other woman out from her reluctant and distant manner.  
‘This is Elizabeth.’  
The woman smiled painfully. ‘Hello.’ she said politely.   
Jacob and Stephane nodded at her, smiling. Connor studied her. He had been able to ascertain that there was none in the tavern worth noting, but there was something in the air of this woman that made him want to reach for his boot knife again. It confused him, there was nothing in front of him that he could see as being suspicious but his killer instinct flickered at her, sensing a presence there that none else in the tavern possessed.  
Stephane grabbed some stools for them. ‘Maybe a glass of wine?’ he asked, ‘I know you would like something from Bordeaux’, winking at Eileen who giggled and whose eyes returned him with pleasure. ‘Uh, Elizabeth?’  
‘The same, the same as Eileen.’  
‘Alright.’ He rubbed his hands together excitedly and left in the direction of the bar.  
For most of the night Eileen talked and told them of how she came to America. Her parents decided to move their pastry business from Paris to Boston.  
‘They decided to introduce a bit of the sophisticated French baking into the new world.’ Her parents now ran small branches around Boston. ‘They educated me and funded me to train in being a governess. I love teaching, so it’s what I want to keep doing.’  
The men seemed impressed with her and found her to be good company, including Duncan who had eventually come back and was equally delighted to meet her. They all conveyed to Eileen their normal occupations, each staying silent on their more darker business.  
‘And you Elizabeth? What do you do?’ asked Duncan.  
The young woman blinked in surprise, she looked as if she were coming out of a reverie.  
‘I, uh, I’m an accountant for Bernard & Sons, it’s a shipbuilding company.’  
There was an audible silence around the table despite the noise of everyone else around them.  
‘Really?’ spluttered Duncan, whose disposition had become looser and more relaxed after five beers, ‘I didn’t think they allowed...eh….’  
Her eyes instantly became sharp faster than a flying bullet and fixed him with an unforgiving stare. ‘You think it’s unusual for a woman to hold a competent and qualified occupancy?’ she snapped angrily. The lulling, quiet woman had suddenly blazed to life and showing interest for the first time that night in conversation.   
Connor watched her warily with some added surprise. If Eileen was welcoming and easy, she was closed and quicken to anger.  
‘Ah no, that’s not what I meant,’ he said, back-pedalling in panic, ‘it’s just, you know, most women I know -’  
‘Stay at home feeding babies,’ she spat, her tone dripping with bitterness, ‘there are women that decide to sometimes, sometimes do something different with their life, and not adhere to male-dominated social convention - and they do so at great cost and scrutiny!’  
Duncan looked like he had been slapped. Jacob shifted uncomfortably and took a long swig of his beer. Stephane and Eileen glanced at each other helplessly. It was Connor that decided to speak to her.  
‘We understand that women do play an important role in society.’  
Elizabeth scoffed. ‘Yeah, for reproductive purposes. Like get on your back, be a good wife and continue to produce for the nation like you’re a bloody factory line. That’s all we’re good for anyway.’  
Duncan’s face went a few shades darker of red.  
Connor’s expression, though a little embarrassed, was stern and firm. ‘It’s more than just that.’  
‘Oh yes of course, making clothes and cooking food. I forgot about those really significant tasks. And tell me, Connor.’ The way she said his name made him flinch a little. She leaned over the table and for the first time noticed how tall she was. The other men reclined further away, wanting to be out of her line of fire. ‘Would you be happy doing just that for the rest of your life? Being a good little housewife? Going to church? Staying at home and gossiping with the idiots in bonnets? Not pursuing anything that sparks a passion or an interest in you? Just traipsing along doing as your told and as you’re expected?’  
He held eye contact with her although, he was surprised by how difficult it actually was for him. He has stared down some ruthless men in his time, templars that would glare up at him as he took their life, fighting men who were in such a berserk state that they would be foaming at the mouth. Her stare was different, it was resentful and condemning and righteous. It held more pain and suppression that went on and beyond than just their conversation in this present moment.  
‘Does it sound like freedom to you?’ she whispered.  
He was wrong about her, she wasn’t slow or dreamy as he had supposed. There was more pluck and ferocity in the young woman than most men he had met. It didn’t happen often, but he felt a little guilty for being so forthcoming with her. There was some truth after all in what she said.  
Duncan stood, swaying a little to the bar. ‘I need another drink.’  
Eileen laid a hand on Elizabeth’s back. She jumped a little at the appealing gesture and she pulled back from Connor a little self-consciously. She plumped back down onto her stool.  
‘Sorry.’ she muttered to Eileen, avoiding eye contact with Connor from across the table.  
‘Can’t take her anywhere.’ Eileen jested casually around the table.  
Elizabeth sipped her wine and said nothing more.


	7. A Harpy at a Blood Banquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth goes berserk, that's pretty much it.

After a while, the place started to wind down as a lot of patrons spilled out into the dark streets, and begin their two hour journey of staggering home. A lot of overly affectionate goodbyes were exchanged and hugging with firm claps on the back.  
‘G’night sh-sh-sh Joe!’ guzzled one burly man.  
‘I’ll see ye on Monday - ‘ere, don’t let Barbara give ye any grief! D’ye hear me lad? You can go out with the boys if ye want te!’ slurred another and hiccuped.  
One man sat by the fire singing a ballad tune while others had fallen asleep, their heads resting on tables and chairs. The bar maids did their rounds of waking them up and sending them home. Some were still going however.  
A group of rough looking men cackled and howled near the bar, pulling at the maids dresses hungrily whenever they walked past. They were all toothless grins and tattooed skin.   
Elizabeth, happy to relieve herself from the table and have some temporary alone time went to the bar, deliberately walking wide of the lively entourage. She ordered her third glass of wine.  
One of the the men detached themselves from the group and swaggered over to her. Without looking, she moved further along the counter to be away from him.  
He slapped his hand down on the bar counter, making it vibrate under his hairy hand, and ordered a beer.  
‘Last rounds.’ Warned the barman, looking at him irritably.  
‘Make that two beers then!’ His male counterparts hoorayed from the corner.  
The barman threw his small towel over his shoulder and muttered angrily.  
‘What’s your name then swea’art?’  
She bristled instantaneously and tried to ignore him. Obviously moving away from him wasn’t enough for him to get the bloody message.  
He trailed his fingers playfully along her back and she reflexively whacked them away. ‘I’m not here for your bloody entertainment. Piss off.’ She hissed.  
The man frowned dumbly at her. ‘That’s no’ the language of a lady.’ He slurred.  
She gave him a fierce stare. ‘I’m not a lady, leave me alone.’  
‘Or wha’?’ He drew himself up to his full height, trying to stand over her tall frame.  
She could smell the heavy stench of booze heaving off of his breath. His bleary eyes looked her up and down hungrily. What was taking the barkeep so long? She only ordered a glass of wine!  
She recoiled in disgust and tried to move away.   
He grabbed her wrist. ‘Think you’re too good for me do ye? I ‘ate you snobby types, always thinkin’ you’re be’’er than everyone else. You’re no’ be’’er than me.’’  
‘Let go!’  
From the corner of her eye she could see Connor and Jacob making their way towards her.  
He pulled her into him, forcing her to look in him in the eye. Her fury spiked at his abrasiveness and his hot stinking breath steamed her face repulsively. She started to bubble up.  
Remember what Eileen told you. Normal life. This is Boston, no fighting, no killing…  
‘I’ve half a mind to lift your skirts up and take you on this bar - right now. I be’ you’re we’ already you teasing bitch.’ He muttered.  
Elizabeth erupted inside and gritted her teeth in outrage. She growled at him. And then exploded.  
She grabbed the wrist that had her in it’s grasp, placing her thumb and index fingers on his pressure points and yanked savagely. The man cried out and she couldn’t deny the glee it gave her, she felt like a harpy at a blood banquet. Serves you right, she thought.  
She twisted his arm further so he was forced to the ground and smacked the palm of her hand into the back of his elbow. His bone snapped there with a satisfying snick. The man screamed in agony and it cut through the entire tavern like a fog horn, bringing everything to a halt .The singer by the fire stopped abruptly, his next words dying in his mouth and even a few drunks woke up, blinking vaguely at the commotion.  
His friends were stunned into momentary silence, then got up.  
‘Wha’ the fuck do you think you’re doin’ you little bitch? Do you know ‘ho we are?’  
One fat man threw his jacket off to the floor, his stubby bearded face twisted into a snarl, and marched towards her. He was intercepted by Connor who reached her on time to shove him roughly into the bar. He still managed to grab at her dress but she smacked his hand away and jabbed her index and middle fingers into the man’s windpipe. He fell to his knees, gasping for gulps of air with his hands wrapped around his neck.  
Connor's dark eyes widened and darted to her. She saw the look there that she had been in fear of for the last two years. The look of discovery. Of being caught out.   
No, this was all wrong. She was supposed to stay normal. She tried to erect a mental barricade, fencing off the in the oncoming wave of suppressed emotions that wanted to be heard - and expressed. All those times she stared at her chest, not being able to bear disposing her tools of purpose, of her existence. Keeping them locked up in secret, needing to hide.   
Oh god.  
The rest of the group broke away from the table slowly, advancing more cautiously now towards her and Connor. Jacob held out a short sword. Where had that come from?  
‘Come on now lads, she’s just a bit spirited is all, a bit too much to drink.’ said Jacob, but they only replied with grunts and hisses.  
She tried to forget the look Connor had given her but she knew it would haunt her forever afterwards. Her heart quickened and she relished in the taste of adrenaline that was so familiar to her. It pumped through her veins, making her hairs stand up with zest and she felt electric. It was the sensations of a life she had left behind in a far, far away land. But in this dump of a tavern, on this night, it came back. She sighed with pleasure at the feel of it and it was like the mental block she had inserted had slide back. She felt...freer, looser somehow. She was in her natural habitat. This is what I’m good at, she thought confidently, feeling more alive than she had since coming back to this stupid place.  
With the ease of a smooth panther, she lowered herself into a crouch, readying herself for the fight ahead. Recognising her allies and enemies, she picked a course of action so she could, a little greedily she thought, take all the men out herself.  
A part of her panicked. Not at the men but at what she was about to do. If she did this, Eileen would be disappointed and hurt. Her average civilian status could be blown. But it wasn’t enough to stop her. Her mother could walk in right now and demand her not to but she would still do it. She wanted this and she was taking it, like a gluttonous politician lusting after a whore.   
Before Connor or Jacob could clash with the men, her plan clicked into place in her mind and she sprinted past them. Like a shark that smelt blood, she was possessed and in a crazed frenzy. Nothing mattered more now than to hurt those men.   
The first one that she came to threw a punch at her, she ducked with inhuman speed and punched him in the crotch. It was too easy. She stood as he bent over wailing, and gave him a back knuckle strike to his temple, knocking him to the ground instantly.   
Two men stepped forward, one had a knife and she almost burst with excitement at the sight of it. He swiped the knife a couple of times and it whistled as it sliced through the air. Her training let her move as if she were a snake, moving with the strikes instead of against them, swaying quickly as it whipped uselessly around her. She grabbed his wrist and at the same time she planted her foot onto his knee sideways so it snapped out in the wrong direction. He let out a cry and his grip loosened on the knife enough for her to take it and throw it at the second man who was coming in with a rusty blade. He stopped in his tracks and collapsed to his knees. He stared down at the embedded hilt in shock, hands hovering around it as if afraid to touch it or pull it out.  
The next man tried to grab her hair and she swung around before he got the chance and gave a full force round house kick to the head, her light skirts swivelling elegantly with her rotating leg. If someone watching didn’t know she was fighting they might guess she was almost dancing gracefully. He crashed back into a table that collapsed underneath his weight and it fell into a jumbled heap on the floor. He was immediately unconscious.  
Two men advanced at her now, one on each side. They both tried to punch her simultaneously but she back flipped, nearly knocking into Jacob who wasn’t too far behind her. He stepped back as she bent down and pulled the knife out from the man with the rusty knife. He roared in agony, limply trying to smack her away, she ignored him and threw it at one of the men. It scored in his left shoulder and he stumbled back from the impact of it. The second man, seeing his fellow man down, bellowed and charged at her. She simply stepped aside and tripped him up. The man stumbled clumsily and vaulted around to punch her. She palm blocked and pushed his fist out of the way to give him a punch herself. His nose gushed with blood spilling down over his lips and chin. She hooked her foot behind the man’s ankle and wrenched hard so he went down this time, landing on his back with his breath knocked out of him.   
She turned to see one last man, and found herself staring down the end of a pistol barrel.  
The man laughed nervously. ‘Fancy moves won’t work when -’  
She grabbed the barrel boldly and immediately redirected it. It went off and blew a hole in the ceiling, causing some debris to rustle down and a few screams from some of the barmaids.   
She thrusted upwards with a palm heel strike under the man’s chin. He stumbled back, arms waving wildly, and just for holding a gun to her face used the butt of it to knock him unconscious.  
She stood over him, breathing heavily but feeling really good. Like the kind of good she couldn’t feel when she was with her family or Eileen. Was that it? Was there no more men who would fight her? Disappointment rose in her, she was still gorging and it seemed like it had now been cut off from her prematurely, a total anti-climax.   
It then dawned on Elizabeth that for the first time that night, the entire tavern was as stoney silent as a graveyard. Covered with spots of blood, she looked around to see the entire tavern staring at her with unspeakable shock. She locked eyes momentarily with Eileen who was holding onto Stephane. Her face told her everything. Written into her devastated expression was fear and incomprehension. Her eyes were like a mirror that when held up to Elizabeth, showed her as a monster feeding on chaos. Everyone in the room now had the look of discovery on their faces now, signed and sealed for delivery. The delivery of her blown mundane life.  
She heard the click of another gun and spun around to see the barman pointing it at her. His face was grim and his eyes hard. Regardless, she noticed the gun was shaking.  
‘Ou’ of my tavern - now!’ He roared.  
Elizabeth swallowed. What had she done?  
She took a few mindless brutes and beat them senselessly to a pulp. Her eyes swept around at the damage she had caused. Most of the men were either on the floor, dead to the world or leaning against a prop holding their balls.   
She lastly looked at Connor and Jacob, seeking help. They met her eyes not as Eileen had done with concern, but as hunters might come across a wild animal. Connor’s expression in particular was wary but studious.   
Dread crept into her chest, making her nearly freeze with despair. She couldn’t be here. She had to get out - now!  
She dashed for the front door, heads following her as she moved. It felt like the door was forever at the end of her tunnel of motion, and unendingly beyond her reach. With an exasperated sigh she threw it back and escaped out into the night.


	8. An Unusual Housecall

Connor looked around at the men Elizabeth had struck down. There were very few people whom he had witnessed being able to take on so many, without even spilling so much as a drop of their own blood in the process. She had taken out the rubbish very swiftly indeed. The way she moved had been smooth, perfect even. His inner assassin disciple wondered where she had learned her technique.

Jacob picked up a wooden leg from the broken table where the unconscious man still lay from Elizabeth’s kick.

‘She would make a good recruit.’ He tossed it back down.

‘I need to go after her!’ Connor looked down to see Eileen struggling in Stephane’s arms. ‘I need to talk to her - she’s out there on her own!’

Whatever Connor had been expecting tonight, he hadn’t expected this.

Stephane struggled to maintain his grasp on her. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Eileen. You shouldn’t go out there on your own, it’s late now. Besides, the woman could do with a cooling off.’

‘Her name is Elizabeth!’

Connor and Jacob strolled back down to them. Duncan was asleep on the table and actually managed to miss the whole fight. Connor gently shook him awake.

Stephane held Eileen by the wrists. ‘Let me go! I need to see her - she’s on her own.’ She wailed.

He looked at Connor helplessly. ‘And I thought my temper was bad - did you see what she did?’

‘Everyone out now!’ The barman bellowed from behind the bar counter, he glared down at Connor’s party. ‘And ye are barred!’

No more scoping out templars in the Green Dragon anymore.

The barmaids walked around with more haste now, pushing and shoving people to leave so they could close up.

‘Never in me life ‘ave I seen a woman give men a good seein’ te.’ Commented one drunken reveller. ‘I’m glad she’s not me wife!’

Everyone slowly shifted towards the door sullenly, the mirth and laughter soberly finished for the night. One of the barmaids approached Connor. ‘Could you ask your friend if she could give me some lessons in those moves she pulled?’ She glanced around. ‘Could do with a knowing a few moves like tha’ in ‘ere.’

‘She’s not my friend.’ He replied.

They left the tavern in miserable silence. Duncan’s demeanour seemed otherworldly due to his intoxication, and Connor wondered if he know what was going on. He probably didn’t.

Union street was flooded with begrudging patrons who had to leave their favourite pub too early, and were reluctantly drifting on home. A few headed further into the town optimistically, scouting for another place to go to. In the midst of the trudging, Eileen started calling out Elizabeth’s name.

Connor lay a hand on her shoulder. ‘Eileen, I don’t mean to pry but where did Elizabeth learn to do that? Did she maintain uh, certain previous occupations that required skill like that?’

She cast her eyes around the street and it’s dark buildings in lost despair. She looked at Connor beseechingly. ‘Will you help me find her?’

Connor returned her gaze with sympathy. ‘I don’t think she wants to be found right now.’

 

The next morning Connor left his room early to meet with Stephane near the surrounding farmlands that hugged the bustling town of Boston. He had planned on leaving Boston today but had decided to stay. The lack of templar presence had bothered him and he had slept restlessly the night before. His hooded form seeing the backs of templar men walking the streets of Boston, he would try to catch them only for them to dissolve under his touch to black smoke, and dissipate into the wind. It was like a cheap magician’s trick that had continuously frustrated him throughout, adding more to the perspiration that gleamed his face as he groaned, tossing and turning throughout the night.

He stayed in civilian clothing to help keep his notoriety down and blend in. For the moment, he was only surveying Boston, information gathering on the level of templar presence which seemed to be dubiously lacking.

He was sitting on a fence beside a dirt road, from above it looked like it was part of a network of lines which criss-crossed one another through the patchwork quilt of fields, that were mostly green and yellow squares for miles around.

A few people walked about on their business. A farmer with a wide brimmed hat driving a cart with a donkey at the fore wheeled slowly past, the wagon creaking with it’s burden. The pollen infused air made him think of the homestead and the day was mild with clouds floating away dreamily overhead.

He spotted Stephane and hopped down. ‘Any news from the informants?’

He shook his head disappointedly. ‘No, they said it’s been quiet the past month.’

Connor felt deeply troubled by the news. This wasn’t typical of those that recited ‘May the father of understanding guide us’. Based on all his previous dealings with them, templars were always working, striving for their nightmarish vision to be imposed upon the world where they rule with absolution. As far as he can remember since the beginning of his assassin career, they were always mobilising, always planning, always active, teeming like a mound of ants. This was unusual.

‘Continue to try and gather what you can, and I’ll do the same. They wouldn’t give up on Boston, it’s too important for their objectives.’

‘Consider it done. Anything we sniff out, you’ll be the first to know.’ Connor nodded his thanks.

Stephane looked uncomfortable.

‘What else?’

His expression became anxious, something he didn’t see in his comrade often.

‘There’s word going around town this morning over what happened last night. Looks like those men Elizabeth attacked were members of the blades.’

The blades. A gang of street thugs who asserted themselves in being the ‘protectors’ of local businesses by demanding of them money. They’ve been know to be brutal and cruel, and don’t take no for an answer. Several industrial buildings burnt down last year during their ‘protection money’ crusade. Other ways that the gang made money at others expense was regular muggings and robbery.

‘I’m wondering whether or not to tell Eileen, if she hasn’t found out yet that is.’

Connor looked away and saw a man in a nearby field of freshly upturned soil, planting seeds bare footed. His strong jaw worked a little as he mulled it over.

‘I know it’s not my problem but...’

‘She’s Eileen’s friend. Even Eileen could be in danger from this.’

Stephane nodded hurriedly in agreement. ‘If anything happened to her...’ His hand went to the meat cleaver that hung from his waist. ‘I’d fucking kill the bastards.’

Connor sensed a problem in all of this. He couldn’t have his assassins getting caught up with local criminals, it diluted the focus and energy on the templars and the blades had their uses in keeping the red coats busy. Besides, Elizabeth should be warned, Boston wasn’t safe for her anymore. Another reason irked at him but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He recalled her eyes before she ran off, they weren’t the eyes of a dangerous potential killer, but someone who was confused and afraid. Maybe he could talk to her and help her.

The wind stirred up some leaves on the ground and the scent of cut grass wafted in the air. It was another beautiful day in late spring but as usual, Connor couldn’t acknowledge the pleasure of nature anymore like he used to as a child, playing in the forest that surrounded his old village. He felt a pang in his heart just then at the loss that grieved him everytime he thought of his childhood home, torn and taken from people who said that they would protect it. No, darkness weighed on him too heavily to indulge in it anymore, he had seen too much loss, too much death.

‘Do you know where she lives?’

Stephane nodded. ‘It’s north of town somewhere. I remember Eileen joking about it, saying her front garden had dead flowers in it.’

Nice.

‘Their neighbour was the patriot, Arnold Craft.’

Connor knew the name instantly. ‘I’ll find it.’

They both started to walk back towards the town. ‘And eh, maybe yous can have another enlightening conversation on women’s rights.’ He lightly poked at Connor, who gave him a sideways smile. ‘Somehow, I cannot see that ending well.’

‘She’s a bit opinionated isn’t she? All that talk she’s was on about.’

Connor shrugged. ‘Everybody has their own belief system.’

 

After an hour of asking and prodding, Connor found himself standing outside a small, modest house of three storeys although the top floor looked to be an attic in the way the roof curved down on both sides like an upside down ‘V’. He pushed past the little wooden gate that was flaking with curled-up paint and past the infamous wilted flowers to reach the door. She lived in a part of Boston that was close to the outskirts, and despite the extra room they had in their spacious residential area, they never bothered to try and expand their house like their neighbourly counterparts. He could see ivy clinging to the house, tracing it’s way up the front of the rusty home to crawl around it’s window frames. He knocked on the door waited.

After a few moments, a young woman no older than sixteen opened the door. She had dark brown hair that fell down the front over one shoulder and there was a slight curl in how it tipped up at the edge. She wore a baby blue conventional dress of modest lace work and a soft pink scarf wound around her delicate neck. She reminded Connor of the porcelain dolls he would see privileged girls adoring and playing with.

She said nothing, just stared at him with her brazen blue eyes which he noticed were similar to Elizabeth’s in hue and shape. After a few seconds of weird silence he realized she wasn’t going to say anything, and decided to speak at once.

‘Does Elizabeth live here?’

She cocked her head to one side. ‘Yes, why?’

‘Is she home?’

‘What an odd question to ask.’

Connor waited for her to say something else. The woman blinked owl-like at him.

‘Why is that an odd question to ask?’ he asked, regarding her suspiciously.

‘Because at this time of the day on this day of the week she works at that company that operates ships.’

Of course, she had said last night as much. Connor cursed himself for not catching the detail and committing it to memory. ‘Alright, thank you for your time. I’m sorry to have bothered you.’ He began to turn back to the road.

‘Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.’

He hesitated.

‘Are you her lover? Like a secret one?’

‘What??’

At the woman’s shoulder appeared what looked like an exact imitation of her, same clothes and all. Two porcelain dolls. Connor blinked.

‘How long have yous been together? Mother would be so overjoyed.’ cried the imitation. Twins?

‘Yes, she very much would be.’ said twin number one. ‘Because she said that our dear sister is old now, and if she didn’t marry soon, none would want her. And she would end up like Miss. Hemmingway down by the well who lives with _at_ _least_ eighty cats.’

Connor reddened. ‘I’m not her lover!’ He flabbergasted.

The twins both looked at each other, then looked at him. Connor felt like he was trying to communicate with two oddly mannered parrots. This was an unusual housecall.

‘Then who are you?’ asked twin number two.

‘A-a friend.’ He stammered.

‘Oh.’ they both said in unison, sounding disappointed.

Twin number one then perked up. ‘Well, could you be her lover? Because then she would leave and we would have the whole house to ourselves and we could find Mr. Craft’s dog and feed him some more of that medicine that causes diarrhoea.’

‘We stole it from him.’ Chimed in twin number two.

‘But we can’t do that if she’s here and we’ve been planning it _for_ _months_.’

Connor’s mouth hung open in horror. ‘You’ve been poisoning Arnold Craft’s dog??’

‘No, just making him ill, it’s fun to watch the four legged creature make a mess of Mr. Craft’s precious, precious house.’ The two girls looked at each other, smiled at once and then giggled. They recovered quickly and looked back at Connor with interest and sneaky playfulness.

‘So you see,’ said twin number one, ‘if you marry her, then we can go about our business and you yours. Cause it’s been nearly _two_ _years_ -’

‘Two years!’ interjected the other twin for emphasis.

‘-since she came back,’ continued the other twin, ‘and it’s now getting tiresome.’

Connor frowned. ‘Came back from where?’

A sly smile spread over their lips and they pressed their index fingers there, making a ‘shhh’ sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gang called the 'Blades' I pretty much made up, as well as Arnold Craft, just in case anyone's wondering. I did do some research on patriots and gangs and whatnot but decided to just make up my own for the sake of easy integration with the story.


	9. A Woman in New York

Bernard & Sons, that was the company name. Connor made his way down to the docks, and moved along the ships and warehouses of Boston harbour anonymously. It always felt like everywhere he went out in public he would slide into his default mode, which was continuously playing himself as incognito. It came from years of conditioning by Achilles to always look and seem the same as everyone else, like a wolf in sheeps clothing.

He spotted the Aquila moored where he had left it the day before. He spoke to Robert Faulkner, his second in command to let him know he was spending some extra time in Boston.

‘Gettin’ any leads?’ he gruffed.

Connor shook his head. ‘Not yet.’

He found the offices of Elizabeth’s employment not too far away. It was up a private side street that had a feel of exclusivity to it. The buildings here had more grandeur in contrast to the plain makeshift buildings of the remainder of the town, and it was clear that more effort and money had gone into their picturesque presentation. It was quiet, and removed from the hustle and bustle of the shipping district.

He was walking slowly along the houses when he saw a gold coloured plaque next to a door, cleanly etched into it’s reflective surface was ‘Bernard & Sons’. It looked to be an upmarket traditional Georgian style house with a couple of steps leading up to the front door. There were flowers (alive ones) perched prettily on all the window sills that extended upwards for each floor of the building. The place where she worked had a clean, professional facade compared to her more downplayed residence.

Connor pulled on the bell, and a minute went by.

He pulled again. He waited. And waited.

Resigning himself to enter, he glanced up and down the little street. On both ends, people walked by obliviously in the streets perpendicular to the one he was in. He then nimbly climbed up to the upper levels of the building. The top window was propped open and he pulled it back and slide inside with little difficulty.

The room he stood in had two desks and chairs along with a coat hanger by the door. He noticed it was bare which probably meant none was here.

The desk closest to him was in a tidy format. A variety of different sized leather bound ledgers and notebooks were arranged and organised strictly by label.

He pressed his fingers down on a single sheet of paper that he recognised from the running of his business back in the homestead as quarterly profit sheets.

A feathered quill sat in it’s ink pot. It didn’t look like anything had shifted recently but he noticed the ink was still drying on the profits paper. The numbered sheets made him think they were hers; he may have just missed her.

He let himself out the way he had come, leaving the window open and carefully made his way back down. His agile body moved with grace but also quickly, as he worked with the window frames and clefts between the brickwork to let himself down. He dropped the last few feet and landed in a crouch, frightening a little boy dressed in rich clothing eating chocolate. The stuff was caked all around his mouth and he stared up at Connor wide-eyed. His mother was standing in a nearby doorway of one of the lavishly decorated houses, calling him back from ‘that savage’. He scowled at her in irritation, he really hated that word. He then smiled down at the boy and left.

He was making his way across one of the squares heading north again when he saw her. Her head was bowed so low he almost missed her. She was walking towards the same exit he was vying for at a brisk pace. She casted her eyes around every few seconds, her demeanor seemingly paranoid.

He sped up his stride to catch up to her. He followed her through a thick crowd of vendors who were pushing their wooden stalls in the opposite direction, business undoubtedly done for the day. She moved swiftly through them, cutting a path of her own amongst the noisy horde and disappeared.

Connor veered after her, weaving through the moving stands on wheels and caught a glimpse of blonde hair before it vanished into a side alley. The place was loud with the low thunder of the convoys as they crunched past.

He entered the side alley, crates and cages filled with chickens lined up on both sides. Overhead was a forest of washing lines and wet clothes hung out to dry. A few light splashes of cold water tapped his forehead lightly, evidently still wet. Feeling urgency nip at his heels, he moved down the alley seeing a small clearing of grass at the end. Eyes forward, he moved with impatient focus until he heard sudden movement from behind. Automatically, he clicked out his hidden blade but as he spun he was struck at the back. He fell forward onto one of the cages, causing the chickens within to cluck and squawk wildly. One of them broke open and they escaped hysterically, flapping frantically all over the alleyway, feathers flying everywhere.

He stood, but immediately crouched down again, expecting what was coming next - another strike. His assailant missed predictably and he thrusted into the attacker hard enough to send him into the far wall. Connor used the opportunity to rapidly pin him - her there. He stopped midway from plunging the hidden blade into Elizabeth’s neck, who struggled under him. She stopped likewise, her mouth in the shape of a large ‘O’, eyes wide with surprise.

‘ _Connor_?’

He withdrew his blade and she frowned down at the contraption, looking between him and it.

For the first time in a while he was at a loss for words. He wasn’t too focused on them anyway. Her skin underneath his hands where he had pinned her was impossibly soft and smooth. He noticed her freckles better during the day as well, they speckled the bridge of her nose delicately, a blot work that complimented her eyes and upper cheeks. And then suddenly realised his body was pushed up against hers; he found it hard to breath. Her sparkling blue eyes looked at him in confusion.

‘Eh, Connor?’

He immediately backed off, shaking his head of the...whatever that was.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked incredulously, looking him up and down, as if she was convinced an apparition had materialized before her and couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

He noticed dark circles ringed the bottom of her bloodshot eyes. She probably got as much sleep as he did the night before. She glanced back down at his wrist nervously.

‘I’ve come to warn you. Those men you fought last night, they’re of the Blades. They’re very dangerous men Elizabeth and I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay in Boston anymore. You need to leave. Soon.’

‘I know who the Blades are,’ she snapped, ‘and I heard about it today. Everyone in the bloody town is talking about it.’ Her tone was rushed and panicky. Still, he saw something like defiance in her facial expression. She looked away and something visibly struck her, because when she looked back her face was filled with suspicion.

‘How did you find me? We barely even know each other.’

Connor checked himself with her calculatively, remembering her temper.

‘I went to your house with Stephane’s direction, and found that you weren’t at your place of work. I only happened to fortunately see you, just now, in the street.’

She gasped with open terror. ‘You went to my house??’

‘Yes, I, um, spoke to who I think were your sisters.’

She now had her distraught face in her hands. ‘Oh god,’ she muffled between her fingers, ‘what have I done?’

He watched her patiently, taking in her plain white shirt and black trousers that he assumed to be her standard working uniform.

She pulled her hands away and sucked in a breath. ‘What did my sisters say to you?’

Connor blushed at the fresh memory that stained the side of his brain like a rouge kiss.

‘They told me you were at work and they….spoke of wanting you gone from the house and making your neighbour, Mr. Arnold Craft’s dog ill.’

Her eyes narrowed at the news. ‘I knew they were planning that.’ She then smiled at him coyly. ‘And did you find them well? My sisters? They are, ah, kind of….’

‘Odd?’

‘Yeah, and they’re a handful too.’ Her expression softened. ‘If they have said anything offensive to you or anything, just let it go. They can be like that with most people, including me. I’m assuming then that Stephane sent you?’

‘In a manner of speaking, he had heard about the talk in town today about last night. He was worried, I thought I should find you and tell you.’

‘Which means Eileen probably knows as well.’ Her eyes had a faraway look, and her expression sad. ‘The one time I-’

She shook her head in wonder at her own stupidity and looked back at him. ‘Thanks Connor, but I should go.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘That’s not necessary. I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’

Connor had no doubt in this, but still felt compelled to stay with her a little longer. ‘At least just to see you home safe. The Blades are barbarous Elizabeth, you do need to leave as soon as you can.’ She looked as if to protest, but then conceded.

They made their way back through the main thoroughfare of the town and Connor started to regret staying in his civilian clothing. Now that he felt there was heat on him from accompanying Elizabeth, he felt too vulnerable out in the open the way he was, and should be more equipped.

They said very little as they made the journey back to her house. When they finally reached her road, Connor finally spoke.

‘Have you seen Eileen today?’

An intense cloud of emotion fizzled and toiled on her face, her look was torn and born of frustration. He got the feeling that he may have stepped on a trip wire there.

‘No.’ She replied curtly.

When they reached the crumbling gate of her overgrown front garden, Elizabeth glanced anxiously at her house.

‘Thank you Connor.’ She went to go inside but he laid his hand on her shoulder.

‘Will you leave?’

She sighed. When she looked at him just then, he saw the same fear in her eyes that was there the night before. ‘What choice do I have? I can’t bring this to my front door, and certainly not to Eileen’s.’

Connor’s mind tinkered over as he stood with her. ‘If you need any help, perhaps to get somewhere or eh, a place to stay.’

‘No no no. I couldn’t ask you or anyone else to do that. This is my fault and I need to take full responsibility for it. Besides, I don’t want anything happening to you or anyone else because of my mistake. I don’t need that on my conscience, it weighs on me enough as it is.’ She slipped sadly away from his hand and walked to her door.

Connor felt his stomach tighten at letting her leave, he couldn’t just leave her, that would weigh too much on his conscience. He needed to know she would get away safely, at least until he knew the Blaes weren’t out looking for her in a revenge gig. He strode after her.

‘At least let me-’

At once the door flew open and a woman who looked to be in her fifties stood there with a shining smile beaming on her face. Her greying hair was piled up onto her head, but seemed a little lopsided. She wore daring red lipstick and heavy eyeshadow, with artifice blush embellished onto her wrinkled cheeks.

He face lit up and her eyes were dazzling on Connor. ‘And THIS must be the young man from earlier.’ She announced extravagantly with sweet pleasure. ‘Oh Lizzy, _well_ DONE! He’s so _handsome_.’ She fluttered with excitement like a chirpy tropical bird.

‘What? Get back in the house!’ Elizabeth shouted angrily.

Ignoring her, she zipped out her fan and swept around Elizabeth to stand in front of Connor. He stared at her, his expression puzzled.

She grabbed his upper arm, squeezing his bicep there. ‘Oh!’

She turned to look at her daughter, who had gone completely red from embarrassment. ‘Oh Lizzy, he’s a keeper.’ She purred.

She turned back around and looked him up and down as if she were a buyer in a cattle market surveying the goods. She grabbed his chin between her thin index finger and thumb. ‘The girls weren’t lying,’ she murmured to herself, her tone inspective, ‘you are a native.’

Elizabeth stormed up to her and yanked her arm away from Connor, breaking her grip on his face. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’

Connor rubbed his face and backed away from the woman.

‘Trying to visualize what my grandchildren are going to look like!’

Elizabeth was astonished, stunned into silence. She was thrown into a state where she was so full of emotion in that moment but couldn’t express it, as a part of her numbed brain had just cancelled out all body movements of any sort. A few shocked seconds went by before she could reply.

‘Get. Back. Into. The house!’

‘Or what?’ her mother asked rudely, raising an eyebrow challengingly at her, fan fluttering her face and loose strands of greying hair.

Elizabeth heard giggles and looked to see her twin sisters standing side by side in the hallway.

Anger flared into her vision. ‘I am going to kill you!’ she exclaimed. The two gasped and ran off further into the house.

‘Mother,’ she stated with struggling calamity, ‘get back into the house - now. I barely know this man!’

Her mother blanched at her in horror. ‘Oh! Well that better turn around quickly! I’ve already started making your wedding dress.’

Connor stared up at the sky. Elizabeth wanted to die. She considered perhaps just seeking a member of the Blades and beg him to do the job there and then.

Her mother then leaned in. Could this possibly get any worse?

‘I didn’t realise,’ she hissed lowly, though Connor could still obviously hear her, ‘that you were into, you know, the more exotic end of the market.’

Elizabeth exploded. ‘ _That_ _is_ _it_!’

She threw reasoning to the wind. She grabbed her mother, not caring if she was hurting her, and dragged her swirly backside back into the house. She could hear her sisters laughing upstairs. She would deal with them later.

Once inside, Elizabeth grabbed the door tightly, her fingers turning white from the pressure she applied.

‘Goodbye young man,’ her mother professed, her tone flirty. She waved her handkerchief at him. ‘Do drop by again.’

Connor’s face was pure crimson, still noticeable despite his tanned skin. He stood awkwardly at the gate, looking like a poor creature out of sorts.

Elizabeth desperately mouthed ‘I’m sorry’, looking fervently apologetic and shut the door.

Her mother turned to her. ‘Oh please tell me he’s courting you.’

‘The only man that’s going to be courting me is a blade.’ She muttered too low for her to hear. ‘Please don’t ever do that again,’ she said, ‘trust me when I say that you’ll scare them away.’

Her mother waved her hand at her remark. ‘Oh nonsense, you’re too irresistible. Even your sisters agree with me, don’t you girls?’ More giggles ascended from upstairs.

Maybe leaving now wasn’t so bad of a move.

 

After that traumatising episode, Connor made his way back to his lodgings. He waited until nightfall and changed into more suitable attire. When he had armed himself with his array of weapons, he pulled his hood up and left through the dirt encrusted window.

He climbed to the top of the deteriorating building and stood on the rooftop, taking in his surroundings relative to his position. The world changed all around him. A jungle of rooftops of varying sizes and material expanded in all directions as far as the eye could see. The world was different up here, transformed into an uneven landscape of rooftops. It was more quiet in the roof world, it was all stillness and the sense of aloneness was overpowering. The sounds of the ordinary, common world continued to teem below him, most of them ignorant to this secret microcosm. He realized in that moment that he missed this. It was a rare glimpse into the world above which so very few were privileged to.

The rooftops of Boston were nicely jumbled and crushed together so it added ease and flexibility when traversing the unsteady terrain. Because of their close proximity, jumping across spaces was never an issue. Towns were good like that. Trees were different, it was the smell of damp bark and splinters from branches, although he enjoyed the natural quality of it, man made objects were easier for scaling and climbing.

He looked around, feeling a sense of foreboding rise in him. The templars were too quiet here, they had retreated further into the shadows with their plans where he couldn’t see them. The suspense set him on edge.

Eager to be off, he leapt across to land on another roof that was low and flat and sprinted along to grab the ledge of another that was higher. He heard startled gasps and cries of surprise beneath him but that was standard for him. The sounds of it were now woven into the overall experience that was part of traversing across buildings. He heaved himself up and started to free run. There was nothing like it. The dynamic nature of it, the freedom always left him feeling exhilarated and he realised this is what he had been missing the last few weeks. He smiled and ran faster, the wind bowling inside his hood and catching his robes.

There was a safe house he knew from previous missions that the templars kept secret. Whether or not the place was still occupied he couldn’t tell for sure, but it may be a good place to start looking. It was outside the town limits so Connor went on horseback the rest of the way. He trotted through the farmlands, not too far from where he had been that morning. The countryside was sleeping now and the stars were out with the half moon hidden behind clouds. Lamps were erected at road corners and junctions, offering some refuge of light for walkers in the great dark expanse.

Very few people were out at this soundless, restful hour. Some farmers, weary from a long day were trudging home in groups and their eyes flickered at him guardedly. Everyone knew the rumours of the hooded men that killed and vanished without a trace to be found in their wake.

‘Soldiers always try to catch ‘em,’ said one elderly man, with a pipe hanging out of his mouth. Connor had eavesdropped on him just after the Tea Party had ended, trying to get a sense of the town’s morale after the incident. ‘Could never find ‘em! Always leaving a trail of dead soldiers in his wake, the man’s a ghost - can’t be caught!’

Besides the low conversations between midnight strollers and the distant sound of crickets, all around was silent. He continued along the road he knew to be the way to the safe house. His horse snorted and clip clopped in a steady rhythm on the dirt road. He passed a few low cottages, their black windows reflecting the white hooded man on horseback.

He turned at the next junction and continued for another ten minutes until he recognised the boulder that sat on the left hand side, if his memory served him correctly, it meant he was near. He tethered his horse a little ways off so it wouldn’t be spotted and approached the safe house from the side, avoiding the road.

He crept through a field of grass and used the scattered trees for cover. With no moonlight, he had to depend on his night vision to slither slowly toward the dark house.

It was two storeys high with a stables at it’s rear. Connor spotted two horses in it’s cubicles as he slide past. A chicken coup stood next to the back door and a small pig pen on the other side.

He could see an orb of light shining from deep within on the ground floor, it disappeared for a couple of seconds before coming visible again as someone passed in front of it.

Connor evaluated his options and decided to enter from above. Keeping low, he quickly crossed the space between him and the side wall and began to climb, his hand and feet searching for cracks and aged hollows in the decaying surface.

Very carefully, he tried the first window he came to but it was locked. He shimmied over to the next one and pried it gently open with his fingerless gloved hands. He waited to hear any movement on the other side that signified someone potentially seeing him. When after a full minute he heard nothing, he admitted himself in tentatively, remaining vigilant of knocking into unseen objects or creaking floorboards.

He found himself in a small box room. The single bed occupied more than half the space and the there was a wardrobe standing at the end of it. Clean clothes were laid out on the bed and Connor frowned darkly at the recognizable red cross that rested on top of them. Feeling encouraged by the sight, he made his way to the door and pressed his ear against it. Muffled voices. Angry muffled voices.

He pulled back and agonisingly opened the door onto a corridor which led to a descending stairs at the end. Light was ebbing up from there.

‘I couldn’t do anythin’ ‘bout it could I?’ The voice was male and he sounded like he came from the most vilest part of London. The accent thick, barely speaking English at all. ‘The only ones tha’ wer’ up te the job ‘ere up in the surgery gettin’ stitched up!’

‘That is not our problem, you were supposed to retrieve the necklace - one simple task, and you couldn’t even manage that,’ scowled a proper, uppity British man. In contrast, he sounded like the type who enjoyed cricket and afternoon tea.

‘You should've resolved the problem fast, got someone else to do it, hire some bloody mercenaries - I don’t know!’ The man sighed miserably. ‘Now our chance is gone.’ He sounded regretful.

There was a screeching sound as a chair slide back, and Connor could hear footsteps pace around downstairs, reverberating through the floorboards.

‘We know where the mistress took it.’ said the first man. ‘She gone to New York, me’ up with some man she ‘ad business dealin’s wi’. We can try and snatch it there.’

The second man bridled. ‘That place is chaotic right now and swarming with red coats and we have….other enemies we need to be ever vigilant of.’

Yes you do, Connor thought satirically. And why were the templars chasing after some woman’s necklace? Unless…..oh no. It must be another amulet or trinket from Those Who Came Before. Connor took this realisation in with great disturbance, feeling the dread sink into every fibre in his body. It was worse than he feared. Protecting the land and freedom from the templars was his life’s goal. It usually involved mainly assassinations, strategy and clever planning, and it was always to stop the templars from gaining power and influence as they tried to get a foothold in somewhere. Whether it was Washington’s campaign with Lee or Benjamin Church being the chief physician for the cause. But this was different. He knew enough that even if they got their hands on just one of their tools, it could mean the immediate enslavement of mankind. He thought of his own necklace with it’s unusual properties, the one he had buried. He closed his eyes and felt a shudder tremble through him. He needed all hands on deck now. He needed to speak to Stephane - and soon.

‘Any problems you go’ with other men, we can ‘andle.’

‘Good. Don’t mess this up Thomas, or there’ll be no further dealings in future. We need dependable men, not ones who allow themselves to be beaten up drunk silly by a woman.’

‘Er’,’ the man’s tone defensive, ‘I ‘eard she was pre’’y rough alri’? She go’ barred from there y’know. Boys are goin’ ta ge’ ‘her tho’. They’re ou’ tonight lookin’ for ‘er, say they nearly know where she is.’

‘I don’t care, your men better be as tough as you say they are, we prefer to only liaise with _skilled_ _people_. But I suppose we’re running low on that these days.’ The last sentence was laced with emphasis of strong disappointment.

A few moments of silence passed. Connor heard the pop of a cork and liquid pouring.

‘And eh,’ the man took a gulp at something Connor knew wasn’t water, ‘who is this man that’s been y’know, been such a pain the arse? Why don’t ye ge’ a job done on ‘im?’

‘Why do you think? He’s a hard man to kill. He’d be dead already if it was that easy. Enough of this chit chatter, I’m off to bed. Do whatever you have to do to get that necklace, I’ll cover all the costs, just get it done.’

The man belched loudly and poured out another drink. ‘And when do I ge’ to y’know, join the order?’

‘Soon!’

The man's footsteps got louder as he evidently headed for the stairway. A rising shadow appeared on the corridor’s wall, making Connor retreat quickly back into the box room. He needed to keep the templars in the dark on him having this knowledge and didn’t want to compromise his concealment. At least not yet.

A woman in New York….

He looked down at the necklace on the bed and cursed. Guess which room the man is staying in? He opened the window more hastily now, closed it quickly and dropped to the ground, frightening the pigs that squealed in reaction to the hooded figure.

Keeping his eyes peeled and throwing one glance back, he made his way back to his horse.

The woman they talked about could only be Elizabeth. The templars were now involved with them, if the Blades wasn’t enough to encourage quick fire in her tracks, the templars alliance with them just might. Although he needed to keep her in the dark on that one.

Templars working with the blades. He never took collaborating with street gangs to be their style, although he had managed to deplete nearly the entire east coast of them, so a shortage of their own would probably push them to resource their efforts elsewhere.

He trotted for a while, brooding over the newly acquired information and what would need to be done. It would require a trip to New York for Stephane and the other assassins, this amulet cannot and will not fall into their hands. But first, he needed to make one important stop. He lashed the reins on his horse and broke into a full gallop.


	10. Your Enemies are my Enemies Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth arms herself and prepares to runs away from home and is offered safe passage from Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some grammatical errors throughout I think. Still trying to work on that....

Elizabeth sat on the edge of her bed, feeling like a cat with it’s hair standing up. All around her she felt the air crackling, an energy gathering sluggishly before erupting into a full scale storm. The rest of her family had gone to bed. After a good screaming match with her sisters had been done with, she had retreated to her room and locked the door.

She also saw her mother hadn’t been joking about the wedding dress. There was a patched-up Frankenstein frock in the living room that looked like one of her risky needling experiments, rather than something that was even closely edible to wear. If her mother’s actions earlier weren’t enough to scare a man way, then there was perhaps strolling around in that gothic, ugly thing.

Her clock ticked by her bed, every distinctive strike sounding like it was counting down her last hours and minutes. Fear and guilt racked through her tense body, rippling off her in thick, heavy waves that probably gave off a powerful enough scent to lure in predators from the neighbouring forests of Boston. Afraid for her family and Eileen, the feeling tore at her inside like a wheel of thorns, ripping as it rotated. If anything happened to them because of her impulsive actions she would tear this bloody town apart in a seething and frothing rage, making the showdown in the Dragon Inn seem like she was just fooling around and performing a magic trick. The compulsion to flee again shot through her, the necessity of it buzzed at her like a petulant bee.

Her cat Mikoto, leapt up onto her bed and rubbed against her. Her tail was stuck up in the air like an exclamation mark. She meowed lowly at her. Elizabeth picked her up and looked into her almond shaped green eyes, the oval iris shrank as she stared into them.

‘I promise I won’t be gone for too long.’

She purred in response with delicious sultriness.

There wasn’t much in her room apart from her bed, which had thick, velvet purple drapes hanging over it; a present from Eileen last year. There was a dresser for her clothes, hair brush and mirror.

Then there was the chest.

It sat against the wall and every time Elizabeth moved, she felt it’s eyes on her. It was small, no higher than her knee and about seven feet in length. The surface was adorned luxuriously in gold carvings of foreign symbols and animals. One side beheld a ferocious dragon face that snarled out with bared teeth, it’s emerald eyes stared daringly at the awed observer. The other sides were forest etchings of bushy green and mighty lions. If someone was to spin the object around like a carousel, they would think that it told a story in pictures of myth or legend, involving magic and otherworldly things. It glinted at her wickedly in the candlelight. The only colourful and intricate piece in the otherwise bare, simple room. The chest looked like it belonged in the receiving parlour of a queen, or perhaps Cleopatra’s tomb; it’s burst of vibrant, rich hues made it almost seem like the object itself was vibrating with life. Her master told her once that it came from some rural part of China, that a great warrior found it on one of his forest walks. He took it as a sign from the great god Houtu, paying him tribute to his life of bravery and courage. Wrapped around it several times from various angles was a fat, bulky chain that weighed probably just as much as the chest did.

Master Daketa. If he could only see her now. She visualised his slanted dark eyes glaring up at her in disappointment. Her life now would not have been the path he would have approved of.

Mikoto jumped down from her bed and found a comfortable spot on top of the chest. She always slept there instead of the bed, as if it commanded some invisible pull on the creature who she found too many times purring up against it. It was a bit creepy.

She rubbed the silk texture of her bed’s throwover between her fingers, feeling the smooth filaments brush against her skin.

Besides the ticking clock, all was dead silent. She could hear her mother snoring softly in the next room.

Eyes locked onto the chest, she stood and walked over to it. For a full minute she didn’t move. An internal battle raged inside her and the burden of what she was doing settled uncomfortably on her mind.

I need to protect myself, those men will hurt me, they’ll kill me, she reasoned.

Boston. Home. Fleeing just like last time. But this time she was older; she had skills. Special skills.

Slowly, she pulled out the key she always carried under her clothing from around her neck. Hesitantly, she kneeled down and unlocked the heavy duty chain. The nerve wrecking action made her feel like she was letting a murderous dog off its leash. The gravity of it swam around her so much it made her dizzy; it was like opening pandora’s box and once it was open, it could never really be closed.

The chain clattered to the floor, slumped uselessly now around the humming chest. I won’t take them all with me, she thought with false optimism. She slowly pressed her fingertips on the lid, applying pressure there. She exhaled, and gently lifted it up.

Inside the chest was an usual assortment of tools that would raise the eyebrows of any weapons specialist on this side of the world. There was a small set of throwing knives, each slotted snugly into their own pocket on a belt. A piece of blood red of silk was tied to each of their tiny ends. Etched into each of them was a single Japanese letter, with all knives together they spelt out the word ‘justice’. She always carved them in herself, and each time she lost one, she would get another and carve it in again. It was a ritual that she did religiously during her campaigns. It was what she had stood for, what she had killed for. There were her shuriken, her ninja stars sitting in one neat pile in a corner. She ran her fingers over them, their coolness tingled her flesh and their surface was a clean smooth finish. She accidentally brushed against the edge and a dot of blood bloomed on her fingertip. Still sharp. She licked the red liquid away. Her nunchuks were there too, a red dancing dragon decorated both handles, leaving no mystery on their oriental origin. The blotched paintwork was deeply embedded into the wood. Curled up snake-like was her manriki, her throwing chain. At one end was a chunk of heavy weight, to give extra punch when whipped at an assailant. It allowed her to strike opponents without needing to be physically close to them and had gotten her out of a few tricky situations to say the least.

‘You’re coming with me.’ She took it out and carefully laid it out on the bed.

She looked inside again to see what else she should bring, trying to deny the existence of her rising giddiness. She felt like a child shopping for toys.

Her eyes roved over her fan. She picked up one end and pulled it across so it unfurled in it’s semi-circle form. Depicted on it’s delicate weave was the ying/yang symbol with two black figures poised in combat stances beneath, facing each other. She closed her eyes, paying close attention to the air she sucked in gently through her nose, how it pushed out her stomach and deflated her chest when it left. Remembering the interior of the Dojang with it’s panelled walls and pristine clean floor. It was paper screens and the smell of bamboo. Mindfulness through breathing. Mindfulness leads to balance. The continuous equilibrium between light and dark.

‘But there will always be little darkness in light,’ said master Daketa, in his broken English, pointing to the black dot in the white half, ‘and always little light in darkness.’

Elizabeth opened her eyes again to her room and stared down at the white spot in the dark half. That was what she had eventually become. A light in the darkness. She had sworn an oath to her master to protect the vulnerable, even if none else did.

She zipped the fan closed and placed it back down. Other weapons laid in her chest, one was a shortbow with a few arrows and a couple of daggers.

She finally looked at the last object in the chest that she had been avoiding since she had opened it. Thirty three inches in length, elegantly slim and moderately curved with a long handle was her katana. Remorse welled up inside her at the sight of it. She had been neglecting it for two years, never looking at it, never touching it. It was her single most important weapon and it was beautiful, still perfect regardless of lack of upkeep. Kneeling down once more she removed it carefully from the chest. Joy burst all around her in union with it and it struck her that she had missed it. The colour of the scabbard and leather handle was a light beige, black was never really her colour, despite the nature of her work.

Fingers curled around the handgrip, she pulled back the scabbard partially to reveal a sleek, glass-like steel that reflected her image flawlessly almost like it was a mirror. The blade shone with a liquid sheen. It had been crafted by master Daketa himself, and she could sense his discipline, thoroughness and precision there. Tears welled up in her eyes as on some unconscious level, she recognised that the blade itself was born of him, his respectable workmanship intertwined with the blade’s veins and arteries.

A soft shuffling sound came from the window behind her. Elizabeth snapped instantly into motion, all senses alert now for the enemies which she had recently made. In one smooth move, she ripped the rest of the katana out from it’s scabbard with a sharp ‘shing’ sound, letting the scabbard clatter noisily to the floor. She whipped around falling automatically into a ready stance.

Connor stood between her bed and the window with his hands up.

‘Friend, not foe.’

Exasperated, she lowered her sword, trying to ignore the thrill she felt lurching throughout her body.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she hissed lowly.

She looked him up and down in bemusement. He was different.

His boots were longer, up past his knees. He wore a belt which had a clasp at the front of a symbol that sort of looked like the letter ‘A’. A scarlet red sash was wrapped around his waist and hung down the front. He had a white coat on that had two wide blue stripes running down the front with buttons and his face was hooded in the soft candlelight of the room, casting it halfway in shadow. Not to mention he had weapons on him all over the bloody place. A bow and arrows were on his back and a sword and tomahawk were strapped to his waist. He had a strap going across his chest that looked suspiciously like it was used for throwing knives. And…..was that a rope dart??

‘How did you get up here?’

He looked at her as if she were mentally challenged. ‘I climbed up.’

‘Really? Do you do you climb often?’ She asked, waving her free arm at his new little outfit. What kind of company did Stephane keep? It struck her that she had been so absorbed trying to hid her own identity and being hunted by the Blades, that she had grown blind to everything else. A disconcerting awareness settled on her as she realised she really didn’t know Connor.

‘Who are you?’ She fired accusingly at him, feeling her grip tighten on her katana. She was also becoming all too aware that he was standing in her bedroom, her family sleeping only next door and armed to the teeth.

Connor’s dark eyes glanced down at her sword, he hadn’t missed how she had shifted her grip on it. Mikoto pranced over to him, her paws padding soundlessly on the floorboards and rubbed up against the inside of his leg, purring affectionately.

Bloody Mikoto.

‘I’m not here to hurt you.’ He picked her cat up and ran his half gloved fingers through her soft fur. She meowed adoringly at him, which mildly surprised Elizabeth. Mikoto never liked strangers, but decides now to run up to the first one that shows up in the middle of the night with weapons all over him.

Bloody Mikoto.

‘Then what are you doing here?’

His face grew serious. ‘To help you get out of Boston, I’m assuming you’re leaving soon.’ He let the cat back down and she hopped gracefully to the floor.

‘I don’t need any help. I think I already said that.’

He sighed impatiently. ‘Will you please let me help you? Even just to get you outside of the town?’

‘Why do you want to help me so much? You don’t even know me.’

The question caught him off guard and he fell silent. Her suspicion grew, it’s tendrils sinking further into her gut.

‘I think you should leave.’ Her tone was low and dangerous.

‘I’m a friend of Stephane’s. I’m not here to hurt you.’

‘How do I know? I don’t even know Stephane. All I know is what you look like and what your first name is. Then you show up at my house and my office-’

‘To warn you!’

‘ - and now my room at this hour, looking like _that_.’ She gestured at his clothing for emphasis.

‘Have I done you wrong?’

‘Not yet.’ She replied carefully.

‘And I’m not going to.’ He said softly. He looked past her at her open chest.

‘What is all that?’ His expression now open with curiosity.

Elizabeth glanced behind at the very colourful variety of weapons that she had exposed, feeling the identity and cover she worked on for the past two years disintegrating.

‘They’re none of your business.’ she snapped back. ‘Now please, LEAVE.’

Connor stared at the weapons in the polished, decorated chest, then looked at her.

‘What training have you got? Who trained you?’

‘What training have _you_ _got_?’

Connor exhaled. ‘Please Elizabeth, the Blades are dangerous people and they have even more dangerous allies. I will be unable to get anything done if you’re still in Boston.’

She cocked her head to one side, confused. ‘What do you mean? What are you intending to do and who are you?’

A creaking noise came from the floorboards beyond her bedroom door. Elizabeth snapped her head over to it, alarmed. Oh god, if mother is up…

‘Psst! Lizzy, let us in!’ Bethany’s muffled hiss came from the other side of the door. ‘If you don’t, we’ll tell mother.’ Girly giggles and squeaking followed.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and cursed with such venom that Connor looked at her in shock.

She glared at him and held her sword out.

‘This is your fault!’ she whispered crossly. She moved to the door without taking her eyes off of him.

‘Piss off! Go back to bed!’

‘Oh no dear sister, you’re going to let us in! We want to see your swooning Indian ‘friend’ - I never knew he was _such_ a good climber by the way!’ More snickering.

Even in the poor light offered by the dying low candle, it was quite noticeable that Connor’s complexion had bloomed a fierce tinge of red. Elizabeth’s jaw twitched and she stared at Connor, thinking hard.

‘You better be here to only help me, or I will kill you if you touch my family, do you understand?’ Her inflection was brimming with threat, and yet had a disquieting calmness and certainty to it that made him wonder at the extent of her competence in killing.

‘I’m only here to see you safe, your enemies are my enemies now.’

Elizabeth didn’t know what that meant, but she pried open the door and let the menacing duo in.

They swished into the room in their matching virginal white night gowns. Their faces alive with ecstasy and the usual mischief.

‘How exciting Bethany, Lizzy’s ‘friend’ - in her bedroom at this very late hour. And here we were thinking our poor sister was boring.’

‘I know Annabelle it is all very exciting, but what’s this? The chest of mysteries is open! Oh my god Lizzy, what is all this?’

This is where Bethany is supposed to be naturally concerned about her sister’s very sharp lineup of weapons that she keeps concealed from everyone. Instead, she lets out a squeal of excitement and hops over to it like a delighted bunny rabbit. Her eyes shining with unhealthy eagerness.

‘Pointy objects! So many of them too. This is so much better than what I thought it was.’

Elizabeth stomped over to her and pulled her back. ‘Keep your voice down! You’re not supposed to wake mother!’

Bethany bit her lower lip in temptation. ‘Can I touch them?’

‘No!’

Annabelle picked up her chain that still laid coiled up on her bed.

‘What’s this for?’ Her eyes radiant with fascination.

‘Put that down!’

Getting nowhere with the chest, Bethany skipped over to Connor, the next most interesting thing in the room. Her red ribbons tied up in her dark curly hair bounced along merrily with her.

‘My goodness Connor, look at you!’ She leaned up to rub the feathers on one of his arrows and pull at the string on his bow so it vibrated. The colour drained from Elizabeth’s face.

‘Beth! Get away from him!’ She yanked the chain from Annabelle, who returned her with a gloomy look of disappointment.

Bethany gasped with exhilaration and put her hand on Connor’s sword hilt. Elizabeth thought she was going to keel over. She could see Connor wanting to do something, but could sense his hesitation of not wanting to aggravate her by touching her sister.

She marched up to her and grabbed her back, wondering if the girl possessed any survival instinct at all.

‘Don’t do that again!’ She yanked her back to stand next to Annabelle. Their unblemished pale skin was deliciously flushed and their eyes were on fire.

‘I knew it! You fought people in Japan didn’t you? You killed them!’ Annabelle exclaimed for the whole world to know. Connor’s eyes narrowed at the new information but said nothing. Oh for god’s sake, the cat’s out of the bloody bag now.

‘You really need to learn the art of bloody discretion!’

‘Oh? Was Connor not supposed to know?’ asked Bethany innocently, as if she had stood on a fresh fresco painting and what wondering why she was being yelled at. It was one of those moments where Elizabeth wanted to slap her hand to her own face. She sighed feeling exhausted. The twins always had that effect on her.

‘No.’ she said simply.

Both girls looked at each other, then at her.

‘When we heard voices -’ started Bethany.

‘- we thought your ‘friend’ had decided to pay you a midnight romp visit.’ Annabelle finished with high peels of laughter.

‘Annabelle and Bethany! Stop speaking like that! What’s wrong with you?’

Connor blushed harshly and cleared his throat.

‘He’s shy Bethany, isn’t that cute?’

‘Stop picking on him, you are both leaving - now!’

‘Not til you tell us what’s going on,’ replied Annabelle, crossing her arms.

‘If I tell you, will you leave?’

Both of them nodded enthusiastically, a pair of bobbing heads.

Elizabeth looked at Connor. She didn’t know why, maybe for verification that it was ok to tell her sisters what was going on; approval perhaps? He regarded her with the same dark eyes, face impassive behind his hood. He wouldn’t tell her what to do.

She looked back at her sisters, her face grave.

‘Before I tell you, you need to swear to me that you will not tell anyone. If you do, both you and mother could be killed. Do you understand?’

Their expressions became inquisitive, but they both shook their heads again.

‘Swear.’ Elizabeth insisted.

‘We swear.’

‘If you open your mouths to anyone, even by mistake, you both and mother could die too. I’m in a serious situation.’

Their expressions remained blank. They would make good poker players some day, Elizabeth thought dryly. She studied them closely for another few seconds.

‘Did you hear about the scrap down at the Green Dragon?’

‘Oh yes, apparently some men from that gang got a serious beating, serves them right for their lifestyle choice,’ scoffed Bethany.

Elizabeth didn’t think she was in a position to make such a comment but she pressed on. ‘I was the one who beat them up, and now they’re after me.’

She could never really recall at any point in her life that she had seen her sisters faces drop in astoundment, but they seemed pretty stupefied now. It was quickly followed by demented elatedness and hunger for details.

‘How did you do that?’

‘How many were there? Ten? Twenty?’

‘Was there lots of blood?’

‘Did you get punched? I don’t see any marks!’

‘I’d say those loose barmaids ran for their lives!’

‘Did you kill anyone??’

After another few general exclamations and prattling over each other incessantly, they both finished with ‘You must teach us!’.

‘I’m leaving, now. For my safety and for yours, and the answer to that is obviously no.’

With time weighing on top of her, Elizabeth turned and put her chain into her backpack. She retrieved her stars from her chest and put them into a small side pocket in her bag. She strapped on her sword around her back, hilt sticking up from behind her right shoulder and locked the chain once more around her chest.

Bethany grabbed her arm and stared in her eyes, full of emotion.

‘You’re such a better sister than I thought you were.’ If Elizabeth thought perhaps if it wasn’t to do with her murderous history in Japan, and her collection of ‘pointy objects’ she might of accepted it as a heartfelt gesture.

Instead, she inclined her head once at her and collected her coin purse. She had packed a few clothes in earlier with scented soap and a few other small items, it was all she had room for. She pulled the backpack onto her back, anticipating the night’s journey ahead.

‘And what about you?’ Annabelle asked Connor, who had been standing by the window absorbing everything in mute silence.

‘I’m here to give her safe passage.’

‘Safe passage to where? You’re not going away for years again are you?’ She asked, her tone coloured with anxiety.

An unexpected wave of guilt hit Elizabeth so hard, she couldn’t breathe for a few seconds. Fighting back tears, she took Annabelle by the shoulders.

‘No, I promise. It’s only until it’s safe for me to come back. I will be lying low, perhaps in the hills somewhere but it won’t be like last time. I swear I’ll come back soon.’

She hugged both her sisters, lingering too long with her chin on their shoulders. Despite the grief she got from them, there were still young, vulnerable and (sort of) innocent. There has been no blood, no chaos in their lives. Just living with boring mother, even if she did drift occasionally onto the mad side of the boat sometimes. She kissed them both on the forehead and took their hands. They glanced at each other before looking back at her, a token double act that she was so familiar with.

‘I swear, I won’t be too long. Look after mother, promise me.’

‘We promise.’

‘When she asks where I’m gone, tell her-’

‘That you’ve run away with your Indian lover.’ Interjected Bethany. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. It was a good excuse as any, and she couldn’t foresee her mother having a massive problem with it. She turned to Connor.

‘We leave?’

She nodded.

He gave the twins one last look, then climbed out the window and dropped to the ground below. She noted that he had done it with so little effort, it was like watching Mikoto jump down from her bed.

She turned back to the twins standing next to each other, Elizabeth was convinced that they would stay glued together for life. They blinked at her.

‘Take care of each other - and Mikoto.’

They nodded solemnly.

Elizabeth looked down at Connor, who was waiting for her. A hooded figure infused with the shadows. His deep set eyes perceived her from the darkest corner of her back garden. She got the vague impression of a dangerous animal, motionless with a predator’s patience, and an unsettling feeling washed over her then she couldn’t be rid of. She climbed on the window sill, sat perched for a moment, then threw herself into the waiting darkness below.

 


	11. Everything Beginning to Crumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth gets a bad surprise and a crappy climax.

Elizabeth and Connor ran past Mr. Craft’s back garden, where the old man appeared on the rear porch, lamp swinging in hand and dog leash in the other. He had his night cap and gown on, which billowed up to balloon around his frail frame. His humped over figure shuffled apprehensively to the edge and he peered out into the the darkness warily.

‘Is that you Elizabeth? Up to no good I see! Scuttling around at night like a rat! I always knew you and your family were trouble!’ he moaned. His dog barked correspondingly at his side. She stuck her tongue out at him and sprinted away alongside Connor, who appeared to him as a black spectre of devilry. Even though her sisters were unkindly to him, she always found Mr. Craft to be a cranky old fart.

She stopped Connor at the end of her road. It was now well after midnight and she didn’t want to be dashing aimlessly around the streets at this indecent hour. ‘I think I’ll take to the south, Connor. I’m going to Lexington. There’s an inn there called Buckman tavern that I stayed in a while back. I am to stay there.’

He pondered on this for a moment. His hooded visage reminded her of the ying/yang sign, half in shadow and half in light. His eyes were sooty black and held no light in them, and every time she looked into them it was though she was being sucked into a vertigo cavernous space, dragged in by a powerful current she had to submit to. It made her uneasy to hold eye contact with him for too long and yet she couldn’t help but be more curious of him because of it. He commanded an air of serious experience and confidence that she had rarely seen in other men. A heavy gravity of respect revolved around him which she lamented to, but continued to also be wary of. Her own travels in Japan had shown her that anyone who had risen up to such a standard as his was beyond lethal.

‘I have….another proposal.’

Elizabeth frowned. ‘What?’

He shifted a little, his expression screwed in concentration. ‘I may know of somewhere you could be safe, it’s not far. But I don’t know if you’ll like it.’

Which means I won’t like it, she thought.

‘Where?’

‘Davenport.’

Elizabeth’s mind ticked, trying to visualise the sketchy map she could recall of the upper east coast.

‘It’s a few miles south, just before Lexington,’ he said, reading her mind.

‘How much is it to stay there?’

Connor shook his head slowly incomprehensibly. ‘How much for...’

‘How much for me to stay there? I’m on budget.’

He gaped at her. ‘I’m not charging you, I don’t charge anyone to stay on my land.’

‘Your land? And you have tenants?’

‘I suppose you could call them that, but I don’t take a tithe for it.’

Elizabeth was surprised. Living on someone else’s land at no cost, one didn’t see that often in this all-consumed greed of a nation. The land rush for colonizing America had sent Europeans in a frothing frenzy, provoking their desires to own more to the point they were gluttonous and yet still dissatisfied.

Elizabeth weighed up the risks versus the rewards and decided that being on her own would be best. ‘I think I’ll just go with the inn. It’s simpler, and I’ve been there before so I know the lay of the land.’ She didn’t want to mention that she was uncomfortable with him, he had been holding back on telling her anything about himself which she suspected was deliberate. To be fair to him though she hadn't told him anything either, but it was for her own and family’s protection that she kept quiet. His reason, she wasn’t so sure on. She could sense Connor heard the unspoken dialogue of what she wasn’t saying. He stared at her long and hard.

‘If you’re sure.’

‘I am.’

He continued to study her face but she held strong against it.

‘Alright. We should continue on before anyone sees us, it’s best we keep to moving.’

They set off in the general direction of the southern exit out of Boston. It was a mild night, the air was still and the half moon continued to dominate the sky with it’s slim, silver form. Torches burned in every street and were mostly silent. They moved nimbly along the cobblestoned streets, keeping to the shadows. It became obvious however after only a few minutes that the red coat patrols were out in full force on nearly every corner of the town, marching down main streets and alleys alike. They seemed particularly prickly tonight after hauling some citizens for merely loitering. Connor didn’t want to risk detection and open combat and thought it may attract troublemakers such as the Blades. He contemplated on Elizabeth’s capabilities.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever travelled by rooftop before have you?’ He expected the answer to be a no.

‘I have, but,’ she hesitated, ‘it’s been a while.’

‘Do you think you could try?’ She nodded.

He led her to a residential area and started to climb the front of a shuddered house. It was derelict and looked like it hadn’t been used in years. Connor used overgrown vegetation that clung to the defaced brick wall and hollow windows to get up. He turned and looked down.

Elizabeth’s face had a pout of concentration as she grabbed a window frame in one hand, and a clump of weeds in the other. God, she thought, I haven’t done this in years. But she was surprised how quickly it all came back to her. The feel of rough, crusty rock under her hands, the grunting and heavy breathing as she scaled the walls decomposing surface. She found the weeds helped, and she could bend her knees to spring herself upwards a little. It took her a little longer than Connor but she reached the top eventually.

Elizabeth looked around. The town had transformed from a catacomb of darkened walled streets and alleyways to where there were no high rise buildings, and the wide sphere of the night sky opened up all around her. It seemed more dominant up here and engulfed her in it’s inkpot depth. Rooftops of all shapes spread out all around her, blanketing below like a quilt. The view, had it been during the day and not by moonlight, probably would have been amazing.

A spontaneous vision cross in front of her eyes that those rooftops were slanting down more, curving upwards with exaggerated tips at the edges. The houses were of paper screens rather than doors, and square pools of rice paddies broadened out to cover the neighbouring farmlands beyond Boston. She shook the image away; that was a different lifetime.

But still.

The nights of free running across their clinker-built surface, listening to the high peels of the wind chimes that tinkered in the night wind as families slept below. The candles and colourful flowers laid before the four poster dais of Izanami-no-Mikoto, the goddess of creation and death. The way the moon there highlighted the surface of the tiles as if the rooftops were green pads and she a frog, hopping from one to the other.

‘Elizabeth?

She shook her head once more. ‘Sorry.’

He turned and pointed to a part where the buildings disappeared to give way to a wide expanse of greenery and forest. ‘This is where we need to get to for Lexingtion.’

She squinted at her exit, focusing on that one spot of where she must flee.

‘I should take to the roofs more often.’

Connor smiled. ‘Be careful though, even guards are stationed up here.’

He led the way, trying to pick the easiest route possible.

At first, Elizabeth was hesitant at leaping across gaps, even small ones. Like someone who had learned to ride before but hadn’t done so in a long time, she had to coax herself gently back into it. A few times Connor had to wait for her patiently as she braced herself for throwing herself across the odd yawning abyss. Carrying a backpack and sword didn’t help. She nearly fell once after running across a narrow wall that connected two buildings. Connor snatched her arm to stop her from tipping over. I am really out of practice, she thought dully.

After a few minutes of springing, grabbing, scraping and panting, they had come to be on a church. It’s rust-covered bell tower would sit silently till morn. It’s stained glass windows depicting Picasso styled images of saints were illuminated by a miniature light flickering within the church’s walls. A graveyard encompassed the holy sanctuary obediently and all was motionless. Drooping flowers were laid in front of some the leaning tombstones, the soil causing them to jut out like a shovel stuck in the ground at a sidewards angle. Some of them had been there so long that besides tilting extremely to the side, the etchings of the deceased had grown faint and weathered in the aged slab of stone. The moon lit the parish and it’s eerie grounds up, giving the creepy yet isolating scene some definition. To Elizabeth it looked like an artistic painting of a lonesome church and graveyard, bleached of all colour to give an old fashioned comic strip of pure black and white scene.They were heading for the bell tower, the height of which would help propel them onto a nearby house when Connor stopped abruptly in his tracks. His white hood turned to one side at nothing in particular.

‘What?’ asked Elizabeth, who was anxious to be off and away from the depressing place, she hated churches. Too many bad reminders.

‘We’re being followed,’ he murmured lowly.

Instantly, she felt her hairs standing up on the back of her neck. She tossed herself about desperately, trying to see moving shadows amongst the ghostly gravestones, or perhaps the surrounding streets that were hushed in silence. Her heart started to hammer in her chest and she unconsciously put her hand to her sword hilt at her back.

‘Where?’ Keeping her voice low.

She couldn’t see or hear anything. The night was stagnant, the only sounds were distant echoes of shouts probably coming from Union street, an area which never seemed to sleep. Elizabeth cursed herself. She was losing her touch if she couldn’t even detect a creeping stalker.

‘Follow me.’ Connor whispered. He moved towards the ledge of the church on one side. They crossed it’s rectangular shape carefully, senses now alert. He dropped effortlessly to the ground. Shit.

‘Connor, where?’ She insisted, feeling her fear rise, she pushed it back down. There was no time for that now.

‘Elizabeth, _move_.’

She glanced around, willing her eyesight to penetrate the numerous shadows that spanned every corner and niche, and spot the imaginary lurkers within them. Connor pressed into the wall, melting in there as naturally as a chameleon. What would happen if she and Connor got into a fight? What if the Blades killer her? This was fear talk and she needed to shut up right now. She half climbed down hastily and clumsily, and then dropped the rest of the way. She quickly backed in beside Connor.

‘Where?’

‘Follow me.’ She bristled in frustration at him.

He led her around to the front of the sleeping house of worship where two huge oak doors stood. Doors that would be graciously pulled back by the meek priests clad in black in a few hours. All kinds have passed into the domain it guarded - the poor (mostly), the sick, the mournful, the joyful, the guilt-filled bursting with hunger to confess, the sinful and the innocent. She didn’t need to know what kind of disclosures were muttered within the confines of the box, but she could imagine the priests suffering from the most monstrous dreams from the more imaginative church goers. They skulked into it’s corner, where the wall and door met. These two visitors were probably a first for the spiritual entrance.

‘Where-’

‘Shhh!’

She stared at Connor with a mixture of worry and confusion. He in turn scanned the front gate that stood beyond the gravestones that sat on either side of the path that led up to the doors.

After a few moments, he pointed discreetly.

She looked in the direction of a building opposite the church, there was a cart chock full of hay parked at it’s front. She saw three pairs of legs underneath it. Her heart quickened and her stomach did a sickening flip. How did Connor even know they were following them? She was thankful then that she brought her weapons - and to think she was even reluctant to take them! How naive was she? Perhaps two years in Boston had made her instincts go soft and intuition veer off compass.

Connor moved first, making his way down the path stealthily, knees bent and arms out from his sides. She didn’t know why he bothered. If they so much as cared to moved their heads up, they would spot him instantly. She followed him and they opened the rusty gate quietly together.

‘Are you alright to take one side? I take the other?’ He whispered. His face was gently inquisitive and caring. Elizabeth answered silently by slowly unsheathing her sword. Lets see if she wasn’t completely out of touch. They both crept noiselessly around the cart in opposite directions. Connor sprung first, followed quickly by her.

She nearly dropped her katana.

Two of the men she recognised from the Green Dragon, the one she had kicked in the balls and the other was the one who had pointed a pistol at her. But that wasn’t what had sent her reeling, traumatically fixated and engulfed with an overwhelming sense of horror. Her stomach did five flips instead of one this time.

The third man was Terrence.

He looked different from his usual work day clothes of silk waistcoats, pocket chains and turned up white collars with shiny black shoes. Here, he was clad all in black and her internal fighter gauged the sword at his waist appraisingly, and the pistol of course which he was pointing at her.

‘T-Terrence?’ Elizabeth stammered, her expression frozen in utter amazement and horror. This wasn’t happening.

‘I’m afraid so my dear.’

Connor stood back, sword in hand, unsure as to whether or not to proceed and engage. He looked at Elizabeth, whose complexion had gone sickeningly white and whose eyes were huge with frightful shock. This wasn’t good. He tightened his grip on his blade and assessed the situation within the blink of an eye. The conclusion he came to sadly was that he couldn’t move unless he could get the pistol’s aim off of Elizabeth. A man with a scarred lip and awful sneer stood in between him and this Terrence man.

‘Elizabeth, you look different with your sword on you - and I’d wager you have all kinds of toys in that backpack of yours.’

‘What the fuck is going on?!’ She spluttered, feeling her legs beginning to weaken underneath her. It was though someone had put her inside a ball and had spun her around so that the world stood on it’s head and everything a blur. She didn’t know which way was up or down. Either way, she felt the cold dread of everything beginning to crumble and fall apart in her hands, powerless to do anything about it. The feeling wasn’t foreign to her but she hated it all the same.

‘Language girl! Did you not learn the values and virtues of a lady? But I suppose neither your mother or grandmother were good teachers on that, and as for your sisters….’

‘The correct term. Is young woman.’ She growled through her teeth. Her stance was poised with shaking tension, the kind of power that was so pent up, it was on the verge of explosion if not released soon. A wild cat ready to strike in fear.

‘Listen ‘ere cupcake.’ Rumbled one of the blades, his two front teeth were missing so he whistled slightly when he spoke, particularly on the ‘s’. He punched his closed fist into the palm of his opposite hand. ‘You owe us a reputation, ain’ none gonna bea’ up a blade and ge’ away wi’ it. No’ even a woman.’

Terrence stretched his arm across him to stop him from advancing on her, although his eyes never left hers as the man struggled against him. She could see the other one behind both men facing Connor. His eyes were glued to Connor in a wary, calculative stare and he maintained a respectful distance.

‘Calm yourself Tommy, you were beaten fair and square. You’ve been a bad girl of late, Elizabeth.’

‘Young. Woman.’ She repeated vehemently, her eyes glittering with recognition and hatred. Who was Terrence? The kindly man with a gentle manner who had accepted her into his company. Her heart was trapped in the chilling vice of ice, incapable of functioning, yet it continued to thump away rapidly in her chest like a startled rabbit hammering it’s foot into the ground.

‘Young woman then.’ He moved slightly so that some shiny object at his chest glimmered in her eyes. It looked like a red cross, but instead of the standard rectangular shape of the church’s version, this one looked like it was more square with the length of the arms even on all sides. He had his cane also, on which he leaned on now. The head on it was a silver lion’s head in mid roar, it’s blank reflective eyes stared out with a detached, cold demeanour. He flicked the brim of his black hat at her. In fact, the man looked like he was attending a funeral. She snapped back into focus and her eyes looked past her traitorous boss to Connor. They held eye contact for a moment. Connor shook his head and pointed his angular chin at the pistol. Like she cared at this stage.

‘You better start explaining to me right now what’s going on. Who are you? Why are you following me?’

‘Getting to the point quickly aren’t you? I’m still everything you know of me Elizabeth, it’s just that you don’t know everything.’ His black eyes shone with an obsession that she had never witnessed once in the office before. Her normal, generous work superior had turned into some sort of night gargoyle that regarded her hungrily as though she were tasty meat. ‘I’ve been watching you struggle desperately to piece your life back together.’ He moved deliberately forward, his gaze piercing hers. ‘But I know you. I’ve seen you try and it’s almost heartbreaking and a little sad to watch. I understand, I do. You have your family and of course, Eileen.’ She flinched at her friend’s name being mentioned from his thin, disdained lips.

He put the pistol away and spread his hands. ‘But what have you to live for? Are you even living, Elizabeth?’ His eyes bore keenly into hers now, his look intensifying with each passing second. ‘Are you just working at my company living each day monotonously, just waiting to die? I must commend you, you have great strength and courage in what you have done and achieved. When I first saw you come in through my door despairing, I felt your loneliness, the ‘missing’ in you. I was curious about you, that’s why I hired you. A young woman such as yourself doesn’t come around very often. You don’t even recognise your own uniqueness. You’re modest. That was one of the great qualities that I admired about you. Your humility.’ He spoke as though he knew her not just in the context of her work life, but her _whole_ life. He could see right through her and she knew it with no sense of comfort. He paused, his face was open with naked enthrallment. ‘I never had any children, but I’m proud of you, as if you were my own daughter.’

And I always thought of you like a father she thought, and not without a searing pain pulsating in her chest. Her father had died years ago before she even left America. He wasn’t a great parent or husband and she didn’t cry at the funeral. Still though, her burning need for a male guardian never stopped. It was master Daketa that had fulfilled it, and now there was Terrence. She wondered was she naturally attracted to older men that fit into her idea of a father. Terrence could see it there, her irrational need churning away inside her.

‘I know you.’ He said compellingly. He stepped closer now, and she back away uncertainly, like a street animal shying from a kindly human gesture. ‘I could give you something new, something you’ve never had before. I should have done this sooner but as you can see circumstance had pushed me to be more forceful now. You could return back and fight.’ Her eyes snapped up at him. ‘Fight for justice and freedom, as you had done before.’ Elizabeth thought she was having an out-of-body experience. She blinked rapidly. How could he have possibly known that part of her? Did she ever give anything away? Was she too obvious? Her inner dialogue flitted words around inside her head until it was deafening. She looked to Connor for help.

‘She would never join you. What she fights for is not aligned with your goals.’ He said with strong conviction.

Terrence rounded on him. ‘Despite your high competence for killing Connor, you live in an unrealistic world, visualising a society that is never possible. We accept the world as it is and simply wish to bring peace to it.’

He turned to Elizabeth, his expression glowing with affection. ‘You could help bring peace to this country, just as you had done in distant lands. It’s what you were trained to do. Fight with me for peace.’

‘An’ wha’ ‘bout us then?’ drawled the blade, sullen from being forgotten, ‘you migh’ no’ hur’ her, bu’ I will!’ He suddenly sprung for Elizabeth, and swung his sword but she parried his blow easily with her katana, sending off ripples of high peels that resounded into the night. She kicked him in the stomach. When he doubled over, she sliced the hilt of her sword through the air in an arc and thumped him on the back of the head. He tumbled to the ground.

‘You’re no match for her,’ dismissed Terrence casually, looking down at the blade writhing in pain. He held his leather gloved hand out towards her. ‘Join us.’

‘I don’t even know who you are! And why would I join a scumbag gang anyway? What do they know of peace?’

Connor struck the other blade down, he was dead before he hit the ground. He advanced slowly on Terrence, who turned to the side so he could see both of them now.

‘And how do you know each other?’ She pressed skeptically. They both exchanged careful glances with each other. ‘What is going on?’ The cloak and dagger charade was getting tiresome very quickly.

‘I promise I will explain everything, I swear. But for now you have to trust me.’

‘Trust you? Sure you’re lurking around at night with the Blades of all people following me.’

‘And you’re jumping across rooftops with an assassin.’ She shot Connor a dumbfounded look.

‘It’s true,’ he said to her, ‘but I do so for freedom and to prevent the greedy from ruling all of humankind.’

Terrence barked a laugh. ‘Freedom in an illusion, dreamt up by those who can’t accept life for what it is.’

‘No, it is worth fighting for -’

‘Stop it!’ Shouted Elizabeth. She was now at her wits end. There was too much to think about right now. She threw glances about her. ‘Connor, we’re leaving. Right now.’

She back away from Terrence who watched her hawk-like.

Connor didn’t budge, temptation blossomed in him to take the templar out. He would need to find out later how she knows this man but killing him for now would be satisfactory.

She sensed his desire and was determined to lash it straight out of reality. ‘Connor no! Come on, please.’

Terrence unsheathed his sword, meeting his challenge head on. They began to circle one another. A drunken worker stumbled onto the street. His bloodshot eyes lit up with terror at the two proficient swordsmen squaring off. He swung around with not much grace to stagger off into an adjoining street. ‘Ain’ gettin’ meself into a brawl over a woman.’ He half mumbled to himself.

Elizabeth strode up to Connor and grabbed his arm. ‘I want to leave.’

‘Wait.’ He replied cooly, not taking his eyes off the templar leader. Terrence made a sign in the air with his forefinger.

Men emerged from the side streets and buildings facing the church front. They wore ragged clothes that were heavily stained and bandanas, brandishing butcher blades. They progressed cunningly forward, their hard eyes and stoic expressions probed Elizabeth and Connor with a warrior’s keenness. The two of them fell back to the church’s front gate, and the Blades formed a semicircle around them, scarred and weathered faces leered back at Elizabeth. She dropped into her ready stance, her katana pointing to the ground. Anymore drunks slugging down this way would surely flee now. Nearby torches burned on their stalks and she could hear Connor’s steady, rhythmic breathing beside her.

‘Told you we should have left.’ She muttered angrily.

He shrugged. ‘I’ve been in worse.’

Something burst inside her and she rounded on him. ‘Yeah? Well this is exactly what I didn’t want to get into! Why couldn’t you just leave when I asked??’

‘Ahem.’

She turned back to see Terrence, now standing at the fore of his men. ‘I don’t want this to end badly, one more chance Elizabeth, and you can walk with me.’

Connor looked at her sideways in doubt. She was offended now. What? He thought she was going to piss off on him? She didn’t bother answering, just let the silence do the talking.

‘Very well.’ Terrence looked genuinely sad.

Elizabeth didn’t waste any time, she grabbed three of her ninja stars from her bag and threw them with as much force as she could. They spun out into the air, point over point, to thud with deadly accuracy into the necks of the three men closest to her. The first of possibly many killings she thought dejectedly, as she felt the remainder of her mundane life disappear into the ether with their deaths. She couldn’t help but feel a stabbing pain at the loss of it, like someone had died. The men automatically grabbed the small but fatal weapons and yanked them out of their open flesh. Blood spurted out in high pressure and they collapsed. The other men cast surprised glances at her, it had looked as though she had just casually thrown her arm aside and three men drop dead at once. Oh yes, there’s more where that came from.

‘We attack, surprise them that way.’ Connor muttered.

‘I think I just did.’ A hint of humour in her voice.

Connor took one side, she the other.

Terrence stood back, and she made a mental note to check out her employers history in future before jumping like a puppy at the first job offer she got.

She could hear Connor’s grunting as she leapt to the side to avoid being sliced from the head down by a roaring assailant. She blocked another strike and went to counterattack but at the last second, she flicked her wrist and cut the man’s inner thigh. He cried out and stumbled back to the ground wailing, nursing his wound as another man came at her. He tried to grab her forearm and throw her off balance but she snapped her hand away too quickly and used her ridge hand instead to strike him on the temple. Stars erupted into his vision and she stabbed him in the gut with her katana. Her sword tasted blood for the first time and she looked down to see it running down in thin rivulets towards the hilt. The blood was the colour of black on her steel, it always was. Master Daketa used to say that a trapped spirit lived in the weapon, causing it to have unusual properties but she was never really a believer in superstitions. It was something that had dramatically separated her from Japan’s religiously dedicated large populace.

A man came at her from behind with a wire. Connor shouted a warning at her and with her sword still embedded in the other man, looked back and lashed out a sidekick into the man’s chest. He staggered back, taken by surprise by the speed in which she did it. She brutally yanked her katana out and exploded after him, landing blow after blow until she had broken down his defense and stabbed him directly in his throat. Two people dead at her blade.

Something smacked against her sword hand and she dropped her blade reflexively from the pain. She threw herself simultaneously to the side. A bald man wielding a club that had spikes jutting out from it’s head (and a few tatters of something that Elizabeth didn’t want a close up of hanging down from them) stood over her like an ogre, grinning. She saw the infamous blade tattooed on his right arm that was criss crossed several times with white scars.

He brought his club down again but was too slow, his size and weapon making him as sluggish as a whale moving through the ocean. Elizabeth missed getting stumped by the weapon and reached into her backpack, fumbling around for her chain, her fingers closed around cold steel and she jerked it out.

She ducked under another strike and came up with her chain in both hands. She held it lightly in one hand and started to swing it in the other that had the heavy block fastened to it. He struck again and she leapt back, swivelling it faster now, the intensity gave way to a ‘whoop!whoop!whoop!’ sound. He gritted his teeth in frustration at her slipperiness. Giving up, he dropped the club and came to grab her neck.

Elizabeth lashed the chain end at him and it snapped out like a vicious snake. It struck his head and he faltered backwards for a moment, then came to his knees and dropped face first into the ground. She then ran over to her katana and sheathed it.

Connor was still in combat with another man, but all around broken bodies were strewn on the lonely street like tossed away toys. Plenty of convenient burials for the priests in the morning, she thought sardonically.

She noticed Terrence near the cart. He stood silent, unabashed by the carnage at his feet. He had his arms crossed, holding his cane and looked at her like a disapproving parent. She shuddered and saw Connor run a strange blade through a Blade’s mid-section, which then clicked back up his sleeve. It was the one he had nearly killed her with in the chicken alleyway only hours ago. He turned and the front of him was splashed red with blood, as if he was wearing a butcher’s apron.

She marched over to him, past the dead bodies that were already attracting flies and pressed her hand on his chest.

‘We leave. Now.’ He looked hesitant and she became cross at once.

‘Look Connor -’

Elizabeth’s head exploded in utter agony and she fell forward. Connor caught her, his wide eyes were filled with surprise and open concern. She noticed for the first time that they weren’t completely dark but were actually brown. Then she was swallowed up by the gaping maw of darkness.

 


	12. Predator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth wakes up to find herself somewhere unexpected...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The language spoken in this chapter is Karuk, a dialect of Native American language which I think derives from the east coast.

Elizabeth woke up, blinking sleepily in a forest or, at least what looked like a forest. She turned her head from side to side. All the trees looked exactly the same above her, mannequin replicas that stretched off into infinity in all directions.

Perfect silence. She couldn’t even hear any of the birds twirping in this place, as if some darkly presence had spooked all them away. She sat up and pulled a twig out of her hair. Where the hell was she? She looked around in bewilderment.

Everything was still, no wind rustled the branches overhead in fact, she couldn’t even see the sky. It was like every time she tried to cast her eyes upwards, some invisible force would blind her from it and drive her sight elsewhere. Odd.

It was as though she had woken up inside a scenic painting and every detail of it was frozen in time, untouched and preserved in it’s pristine condition. No change, no motion, no growth. The grass seemed too perfect, a lushful green and blushing with life. The trees were in a likewise manner, their elegant bushy boughs extended down towards her as if welcoming her into their strange domain. She was beginning to feel like some bemused girl who had found herself inside an enchanted forest, the kind depicted in a shady folklore tale that was weird, and so unnatural.

It was the quiet that really got to her the most, the hearing of nothing. The kind of silence that was unsettling, the type of nothingness which allowed for nothing else but a person’s thoughts to fill the enormous vacuum that permeated everything here. It was a total aloneness with one’s reflection that would drive anyone eventually to the point of madness.

Even as she moved she couldn’t hear her feet snap the fallen branches beneath her bare feet as she stood, or even her own breathing, or the brushing of her arms against - what the hell was she wearing?? A deep blue dress made of soft silk extended from her neck down to her knees. It was light and flouncy and lovingly caressed the curves of her body. She shook her head in disbelief.

Then from far away, a faint sound. She strained to hear it and it sounded like a beating drum. The steady beat sent out vibrations that quivered between and perhaps through the trees. It was like a tribal anthem, and it made her think of natives dancing manically to it around a blazing fire.

She tilted her head to one side, trying to trace where it was coming from. It sounded like everywhere. She squinted to see if she could see anyone, anything that would yield a hint to her of it’s source. Nothing.

Her stomach clenched. Something was wrong. The forest gave nothing away to give her cause for alarm and yet it remained. That _feeling_. It was as though she stood on a hotspot, a thousand archers concealed in the trees above, nocked arrows pinpointed on her, a bullseye target.

It confused her, as there was no direct stimuli that screamed at her to run but run she must, run away from...she wasn’t sure.

Her face swung around in haste now, looking around at all angles that were carbon copy mirror images of the next. Why did this forest look so symmetrically perfect?

Whatever was causing her trepidation, it was watching her. Waiting on her. She was merely a gazelle on the African plains, being calmly hunted by unseen predators.

Her breath quickened and although she still couldn’t hear it, she could feel her chest rise and fall feverishly. Adrenaline shot through her and she was ready to sprint off in a fraction of a second.

What did she do? Fight. She wasn’t running anywhere, she wasn’t prey, she was a predator here. She calmed herself but remained vigilant and looked up to see if she could break down an overhanging branch to use as a weapon, but her eyesight was diverted again to look at something else. Damn that.

She opened her mouth, unsure as to whether her words would be heard on the stagnant air.

‘I’m not running.’ She almost jolted at the sound of her defiant, confident voice. I can hear myself! ‘Come out and face me, predator.’

The drum stopped abruptly.

That total silence was back again and it set her on edge, like a boiling kettle whistling to burst. She should be able to hear a predator approaching, shouldn’t she? Or was master Daketa’s training all for nothing? But deep within she knew this place was alien, her intuition perceived that there was a quirky set of rules for everything here.

A blurred figure moving with unerring and impeccable speed shot down next to her. She dove sprightly out of the way and rolled, coming up into a low crouch. Her breath caught in her throat.

Connor.

Sort of.

Someone who beheld him now would think he had dropped everything and wandered off back to his native roots. He looked positively primitive. His face was covered in red war paint and staring out between the spiralling lines of it were his fierce, dark eyes glimmering with feral animation. He was positioned in a crouch as well, knees bent to spring ready. His shoulders and back were draped with furs and the paint continued down his bare chest in a flourishing pattern. Tattoos wrapped around his forearms and climbed up to his broad shoulders, and she thought he smelt dimly of crushed pines. In one hand he held a tomahawk.

Brilliant, he has a weapon, she thought with fret.

She unconsciously stepped back from this more au natural version of Connor and he moved forward. His wild eyes looked her up and down then flashed with recognition. He immediately relaxed his stance, tomahawk down by his side.

‘Elizabeth, piith ap.’ He dropped his axe and casually walked up to her. She cautiously back away. ‘Stay away from me.’

‘Kuma ahiv ii ap.’

He grabbed her arm and she kicked his shin and twisted away at the same time, expecting him to fall onto one knee. Not even a wince out of him, he ignored it and grabbed her other arm, bringing them together to his chest. She was forced up against him.

‘Kuma ahiv ii ap. Imus fata ach ninay íim.’ He nodded at something behind her.

What the hell was he saying?! Connor insisted again, looking impatient and annoyed.

Reluctantly, she looked over her shoulder to see a deer that hadn’t been there moments before. Dead. It was lying on it’s side and it’s mangled stick-thin legs were broken, twisted and bent wrongly. It’s tongue hung out, lolling down to the ground and it’s huge, innocent opaque eyes reflected her frightened face in their lifeless depths. She was both heartbroken to see such beauty destroyed and yet also afraid - were her and the deer the same? Maybe she was just prey after all in this deceiving and strange forest.

She panicked and thrashed around in Connor’s steel grip. ‘Kuma nani ikákrih. Ar afishnihanhîichvu. Ach ákih ninay ap, Elizabeth.’

She hadn’t a bloody clue what he was saying but the way her name came out from between his plump lips...he said it with such a seductive yearning that it gave her pause. Confounded, she stared at him, mouth gaped open. Was he here to kill her or to scare her or what? Prove that he was the better predator? His brown eyes stared through her, brimming with a tsunami of emotion. It dimly reminded her of a dormant volcano shaking the ground underneath for release. His face was stern and his jaw jutted out with pride and resolution, he brought her hands up and kissed her knuckles lightly. Then he glanced down at her dress and let out such a savage groan that it would have made even her mother blush with timidity. Suddenly, he pulled her into him with ruthless vigor and crushed his lips against hers, forcing her mouth open. Elizabeth’s body jerked in reaction.

The drum started again, beating faster this time, working up to an intense crescendo. She tried to push him away but it was like shoving against a brick wall. What? Can a woman not get some of that imperviousness here? Elizabeth was getting angry now.

The continuous rhythm surged upwards and became louder. The thunderous noise of it was ear-splitting and it surrounded them both like a suffocating shroud. Without any explanation she knew this was coming to some conclusion, a part of some bizarre ritual she was trapped in. But she felt helpless in Connor’s vice. I need to get out of here!

 

The world blurred and spun around as Elizabeth tumbled to the ground. She automatically bunched her hands into tight fists, ready to counteract against an attacker that wasn’t there.

Delirious and rankled to serious degrees, she kicked out and scrambled on what she thought would be the forest floor. Underneath her however was damp, wooden floor. Gasping with sweat congealing on her forehead, she looked wildly around to find herself in a dark interior. It was a small room, bathed in half light through the round porthole window. It was hot, the humid air pressed down on her and in one corner sat a basin of fresh water. Next to her was a bed of plain mattress and clean sheets. She felt herself being rocked gently up and down and the room swayed slightly with her. I’m on a ship?? She untangled herself from the sheets that were twisted and wrought around her legs and stood.

Was she still dreaming? One minute she was in some freak forest and now she’s at sea. Was this it? Was she finally losing her mind? She had been under pressure to leave and worry stole at her for her family’s safety. Maybe her mind was depreciating into insanity, no longer discriminating between what was real and what was imaginary. And where was Connor?

She waved her head from side to side, trying to clear the last wisps of that place she had been in. The remnants of it hung around her in this random room, overshadowing her mind. It had a rosiness tint to it not unlike that of the next morning after a first wedding night. Elizabeth blushed heavily in the hot space as she remembered what had traversed.

She looked down, she was still wearing the same clothes from when she had left her house with Connor. That was reassuring, at least she was positive _that_ had happened. Knowledge then surged through her of the fight with the Blades and Terrence, and the flood gates flushed open with panic.

Striving to clamp her fear down, she strode over to the window to get a sense of her current position. The sea wasn’t too far below her and she could see the green coastline a few miles off.

Had they taken her prisoner? She wore no shackles nor chains. But where were her weapons? She threw up the mattress like a mad woman and tore open a small dresser, ripping all the drawers out onto the floor. Nothing. Her nostrils flared with alarm and fury.

Where were they?

She looked at the door, thinking hard. Who knew what was beyond it? Was Terrence playing with her by leaving her with no constrictions but no weapons either? She certainly didn’t know the man as well as she had thought. It seemed now to Elizabeth at this stage that if he could deceive her for years (and she always fancied herself a good judge of character), then he was certainly capable of anything. She recalled how he had looked at her, the burning gaze, a yearning there that she couldn’t bring herself to look further into. She wiped the disturbing image that had unfortunately branded itself onto the side of her brain with a bad aftertaste, and checked herself over for possible injuries. Her shoulders rolled easily and nothing seemed broken or fractured. Her head hurt a little but she wasn’t surprised at that. All in all, she was in decent shape.

Captured. It wasn’t a first for her. From small bamboo cages steeped in water to dark, dingy dungeons, this was luxury.

She walked up to the door and took a deep breath. The plan would be to navigate gingerly around the ship without attracting any attention, and extract information from some poor unfortunate sailor and see what the hell was going on. There was no point in staying in her room since someone would eventually come in to check on her anyway.

Quietly, she gradually opened the door and peeked out into the dimly lit corridor. Lamps hung from the low ceiling above, swinging lazily with the ships hypnotic movements. She slipped soundlessly into the corridor and picked a direction to go in. She pushed her back up against the wall, hearing only the strained groans of the ship as it tipped and dipped, and prowled along to another adjoining empty corridor. She followed it around until she came to what looked like the cargo hold. It was cavernous, like a giant hand had reached into the bowels of the ship and scooped out a chunk to leave a bowl shaped hollow within.

Two middle-aged men in casual clothing were working away on moving crates and boxes around, their sweating faces glistened in the soft glow of the lamplight. One of them was singing a seaman’s shanty as they laboured on. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, zoning in on them and pranced over to fall behind a large crate.

I need information and to take them out, she thought. She would take the men by surprise, and really only one needed to be conscious to give her all the answers she needed. She didn’t want to give either man a chance to raise the alarm, and noted that only one of them was armed with a sword and it was the one who was singing. She watched a little longer, waiting for an opportune time to strike.

They both worked with their backs to her as the singer handed crates down to another man who smiled mutely up at him. His face seemed overly happy, an almost childlike optimism that is unusual to be seen in adults. He beamed as he turned to receive the next crate from his working partner.

She sleeked towards the closest pillar of crates to time her next move perfectly. She gauged the men appraisingly, trying to figure out if they were left or right handed. What she should expect and not expect from them. If Terrence thought she would cower in her smelly room until he summoned her he was wrong.

The man with the sword was three feet away from where she hung back in the shadows. She waited until he handed another crate down and then sprung forth cat-like. She yanked his sword out from his scabbard, sending a screeching sound to echo against the pillars and high walls of the hold. She whacked the butt of it against his temple, knocking him instantly unconscious. She leapt deftly down next to the other man and held the sword point out threateningly, giving it a little flourish to scare him. The man’s sparkling expression faded, eyes wide with shock.

‘Where is this ship going? Tell me!’

He held his shaking hands up in sheer panic, his expression pleading. Elizabeth noticed he had urinated on himself. Jesus Christ.

‘Where is it going?’ she persisted. He started to whimper, bottom lip trembling. He pointed to his ears and shook his head incomprehensibly. She didn’t understand. He started to make incoherent noises in his throat, like a monkey trying to communicate. She stepped forward and placed the cold tip of the blade into the man’s neck. ‘I’ll kill you if you don’t tell me,’ she hissed. He covered his ears with his hands, shaking his head at her. She wondered if he was mentally deficient in some way when the penny dropped. He was deaf.

Fuck.

She knocked out the wrong man. She blew out a breath, thinking of what to do next. The man began to weep. Oh god.

She withdrew her sword. ‘No, don’t cry. I’m sorry,’ she said, trying to over exaggerate the words as she mouthed them out. She didn’t have time to feel bad though as then two men emerged from an entrance opposite to the one she had used.

Their expressions turned serious and hateful when they spotted her. The deaf man saw them and tried to run over but she snagged him and pulled back.

‘It’s alright Benny, it’s alright,’ soothed one of them in a thick English accent.

Elizabeth held the sword to his throat. Both men glared at her with spite.

‘Whose ship is this? Where is it going?’ she snapped.

The English man leaned over and whispered to the other. The man nodded and skipped off back the way they had come.

‘You’re on the Aquila girl. This ship is manned by Robert Faulkner.’ The name didn’t ring a bell.

‘Why am I here?’ She tightened her grip on the whimpering man, who had become unnaturally still in her grasp, she figured he was too stunned to move.

‘Don’t know love, you’d need to ask the captain that.’

She swallowed. Well, at least Terrence wouldn’t be finding her kneeling and meek in the room he’d left her in. He’ll just see how stupid it was for him to carry her body off and traipse away into the ocean with her. If he was arrogantly expecting her submission and compliance, she wasn’t doing it, nor ever will. If she had it her way, she would never see the damn man again as every time she saw the image of his face, it gave the same stomach churning feeling she had had that night. How many nights ago in fact, was it now? Who knew?

And she needed to get off this ship. She could possibly use her hostage as collateral for some demands, but she wouldn’t be able to get the entire vessel to pull in somewhere with just a blade to a working hand’s throat.

She could hear several hurried footsteps clamouring towards them from the exit the man had left in. Their long shadows were cast out on the wall in the corridor and continued to enlarge as they neared. It looked like a lot of men were marching stridently down it. Elizabeth braced herself and pressed her lips gently to the side of the deaf man’s ear. ‘Look, I’m not going to hurt you alright? Just don’t struggle.’

She knew he couldn’t hear her, but she still felt she should make an effort, she had just taken one of the most vulnerable men on the ship hostage and she felt quite shitty about that. It was almost as despicable as taking a child. He tilted his head as she spoke to him, probably feeling the small brush of air on his ear and neck from her whispered words.

More men stomped into the hold now, looking pissed off. They fanned out around her and she backed off. She dragged the man with her so her rear was to a column of crates, not allowing for any attack from behind.

She kept her face neutral as a sea of gruff, withering aged men stared at her. They smelt strongly of salty air and fish. She was starting to think that she was attracting dodgy, intimidating gangs of men.

‘Where’s your captain?’ She felt her apprehension rising, threatening to swallow her whole. She wondered if it was possible for her to faint right now.

Most of them looked rough enough, some with bulging biceps bursting in their dirty ragged shirts and were barefooted. Some of them were sporting lethal blades and strips of dirt streaked their faces. For a moment, Elizabeth had a moment of panic, a fearful thought struck her. Was she on a pirate ship? Some of the men _did_ have tattoos. Maybe Terrence was angry enough to dump her defenceless body on a ship flying the black flag. She scrounged her memory of any mention of an infamous ship named the Aquila, but nothing came to her.

Another part of her was still churning away on what exactly Terrence had been trying to convert her to. Just on that topic, what had him and Connor been discussing in front of her and how on earth did they even know each other?

Her mind snapped back to the present moment. More mulling over that later, more than likely from a dripping cell fending off advances from a leering, toothless nut.

She wouldn’t give up easily. Whoever the captain was, Terrence or some half-mad pirate, she wouldn’t go down quickly. It was probably good anyway, to establish a tough first impression with these rugged sailors who have probably never opened a book in their life.

‘What is going on here?’ demanded a familiar voice. The men parted for the captain who fumed out to stand at the fore of the gathering sailors.

Connor. Again.

Except now he was in captain clothing. Was she still dreaming? Would she tumble onto the side of a mountain next and he’d be wearing a seed bag with an ox standing next to him? He frowned at her and the sword she held up to one of his crew.

‘Elizabeth, what are you doing?’

She felt like the cat caught with the pretty bird in it’s mouth, feathers sticking out from the sides of it’s guilty mouth. Her jaw moved up and down uselessly. She wasn’t picturing this when she woke up in that small room he had more than likely put her in.

‘I-I thought...’ Her words died uselessly in her mouth as her dazed eyes moved over the sea of grim faces that beheld her with anger and distrust.

Connor stepped forward with his hand out. ‘Give me the sword.’

She held onto it, her only security on this foreign vessel with these strange men. ‘Where am I?’

‘You’re on my ship. I brought you here after you were knocked out, give me the blade.’

Elizabeth relaxed a little at the news. Feeling a little dumb she let go of her snared quarry and lowered her sword. He darted across to his fellow sailors who embraced him, seeming relieved.

Connor turned to them. ‘You can go back to your posts now.’

One of the men broke away. He was in his early fifties with grubby sideburns and was dressed in more formal and superior attire than the rest of the group. ‘You sure cap’in?’

Connor nodded solemnly. ‘Take the wheel over from Christy.’

An unspoken understanding passed between them and the man gave her one last look, then left with the others who began to drift out of the hold. Some were murmuring lowly and casting the odd glance back at her. Probably thinking I’m a raving lunatic, she thought. When they were finally alone, Elizabeth spoke.

‘What is going on Connor? What happened?’ He leaned towards her and took the sword from her loose hand. She stared at him as he did so, her face a mask of concern and bemusement.

‘More men came,’ he answered calmly, and set the sword down on a pile of nettings, ‘one of them threw a knife at you, lucky it was the handle that hit you. You fell unconscious. I had to pull your body behind me and fight the rest of them off.’ She listened with strict attentiveness, trying to piece everything together. She pictured Connor on his own on a dark street, trying to protect himself and her limp body from the Blades.

‘That must have been tricky.’

His coffee brown eyes looked up at her surprised. ‘Tricky is one way of putting it.’

‘And Terrence?’

Elizabeth was almost afraid to ask, hating to even bring the topic up with Connor. But really he was the only person she could talk to about him, he saw what happened outside the church, heard what he had said to her.

His face darkened at the mentioning of his name. ‘Disappeared after the fight was over. I couldn’t track him because I had to attend to you first.’ She knew she wouldn’t like the answer, it was as she feared. Terrence was still alive and well, and now also a dangerous enemy. What man had she disappointed out in the street that night? What would she have to pay for that disapproving look he gave her? She shivered. How could an average bar fight which practically happens all the time in every bloody tavern in the town lead to this?

'Can I ask how you have come to know Terrence? You both were clearly acquainted.'

Elizabeth barked out a nervous laugh. 'He's my employer, I do the accounts for his company at Bernard & Sons, I said it that night in the tavern. Or maybe I should say my ex-employer now. I had no idea that he was part of that gang, he never struck me the type.'

Connor's look was thoughtful and calculative. 

Realising now that he had boarded his ship with her on it and set sail, her anger boiled up to breaking point. ‘Why did you take me on this ship?’

Connor’s jaw mechanically protruded out defensively, like a slot box for transferring coin in a bank. ‘Because I had to get you out of Boston, after our stand-off with Terrence, you wouldn’t have lasted without me. Besides, I have urgent business that I need to take care of and I didn’t know when you would wake up. I didn’t have time to wait on you to make up your mind.’

The twins doll-like faces loomed up in her mind’s eye, their pretty pale complexions hanging there as two reminders of her responsibilities. She thought of them and her mother. ‘You could have taken me back to my house.’

He shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t of been safe for your mother and sisters, you’re better off staying clear of them for the moment.’

‘Where are we going?’

He stood silent for a few seconds with his hands on his hips, looking every bit as the captain of the ship. ‘My homestead, where I live. The place I told you about.’

Great. She chewed over these details for a minute then a solution occurred to her. ‘I can get to Lexington from there, can’t I?’

‘Yes, it’s close by.’

‘And how long till we get there?’

‘I expect us to arrive in Davenport by nightfall.’

She looked at the native man in front of her, realising not for the first time that she didn’t really know him. Her expression became inquisitive. ‘Who are you Connor? Last time I saw you, you were armed to the teeth, now you’re captain of a ship.’

Her question was met with disciplined silence.

‘Aren’t you going to tell me anything?’

‘I’ll think about it if you tell me what you were doing in Japan.’

Elizabeth felt like she had been cracked with a whip. This topic wasn’t up for discussion. Refraining from discussing that openly with anyone was a rule she followed rigorously since she had gotten back. If anyone were to know or find out, she could end up attracting all types. Safety came first these days. Safety came first because of her family.

She stood straighter and looked him dead in the eye. ‘I don’t discuss that with anyone.’

‘Really? Not with your sisters? Or Eileen?’

‘Eileen’s different. And my sisters found out because my mother who, like themselves, doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut.’

‘You probably shouldn’t have told her anything then.’

Anger flared up inside her. ‘Yeah, well it’s a bit late for that now. How do you and Terrence know each other by the way?’

‘I’m not telling you anything unless you talk to me about Japan.’

‘Why does it matter to you so much? Is it because you’re not used to a woman who can fight just as good as you?!’ She wanted to take the words back just as quickly as she had said them. Damn her temper, it was getting her into all sorts of trouble lately, giving the Blades stick and now a captain/something else as well.

Connor didn’t react in a screaming huff. Weirdly, she thought he would have, though his temper seemed generally cooler than hers. He simply stared at her, waiting for her to simmer down. She was surprised to find that she was blushing and feeling a little embarrassed by her choice of words, but resolved herself to exert an impassive façade. She stubbornly met his eyes straight on.

‘It’s not because you’re a female fighter Elizabeth, you’re not the first I’ve come across.’

Intrigue blossomed in her, what other women did he know with her skills? She sometimes felt so alone in her capacity and abilities, that she wondered sometimes if there were other women out there who struggled in the same unique way that she did. ‘Terrence called you an assassin, and you said that you did it for freedom.’ He looked visibly stricken by her words, was he hoping that she would have forgotten everything that had transpired? What had been said? ‘Is that true?’

‘I’ll answer truly if you tell me about Japan, I promise you can trust me.’

‘I don’t know you Connor.’

‘I don’t know you either.’

‘Who do you think is more of a threat here? Me or you? I have a family to look after and Eileen. You have this ship, your own land and your own men. Who do you think is more vulnerable one between the two of us?’

He stepped forward and she was vaguely reminded of how he had done so in her dream, with intended intimacy and heat. Her heart began to skip up beats.

‘What would it take to convince you? I could have done anything with you while you were unconscious, instead I decided to take you to the safest place I know; my home. I don’t just take anyone there and I still feel it’s a huge risk considering your capabilities and the fact that I don’t even know what you did in Japan. You could have been slaughtering innocents for all I know.’

Elizabeth opened her mouth, then closed it. Of course that wasn’t what she had been doing, but Connor didn’t know that. I guess we have some trust issues, she thought admittedly.

‘Do I really strike you as the type to have done that?’ He stepped closer again and she had to command every fibre in her body to stay put. His eyes bore into hers. Why was it so bloody difficult maintaining eye contact with this man?

‘No, but I think we need to be honest with each other. I don’t want us getting off my ship throwing daggers in each others backs.’

‘What does _that_ mean?’ she asked, her tone defensive. Was he threatening her? In all honesty he could do it if he wanted to, they were on his ship after all with his men. And I didn’t ask to be on it, she responded angrily.

‘It means I want us to come to an understanding before we anchor on shore.’

‘Alright, that seems fair.’

They regarded each other in silence, each adamantly refusing to commence engagement with the other. Two predators alone in the hold. Elizabeth could hear the ship’s hull creak and strain as the vessel slugged onwards with it’s journey, the sea was a calm creature today and the ship rose and fell tenderly, enough to lull someone to sleep. All manner of tools hung from the walls, mimicking the ship’s movements and some of the tallest columns of crates looked as though they might keel over with the soft motion.

‘You should get someone to move those crates, they look like they might fall over. It’s probably a bit dangerous that they’re stacked up so high.’

Connor answered reflexively, ‘I _did_ have someone down here attending to them.’ It was like he had popped a nerve and she had been bitten. She was suddenly aware of another darker side to Connor, one that didn’t surface too often and found it was like glimpsing a mythical creature cresting before it vanished back into the depths below. He continued to look at her with uninterrupted interest and the dream came rushing back again at a dizzying speed. She took in a nervous breath.

Connor frowned. ‘Are you well?’

She nodded in earnest. ‘Yes.’

‘You don’t seem to be, maybe you have taken to a fever.’

She touched her forehead and her fingers came away with a thin film of with sweat, black spots started to dance in her vision. Maybe she was actually ill. She leaned against a stack of boxes that sat behind her and closed her eyes. Sea sickness, it couldn’t be anything else.

‘Elizabeth?’

‘I’m fine.’

The room began to swirl chaotically around her like a tornado, and it continued to rotate like a carousel gone out of control. It was a messy meshing of colour with definition lost on all objects, like an overly used painter’s palette. Elizabeth’s vertigo heightened and she squeezed her eyes shut at the extreme flash movement. Then everything came to a blunt halt, and she gradually opened her eyes to the eerie forest from her dream, exactly as it had been before. She rubbed her eyes hard and blinked. This wasn’t possible….

Alarmed, she looked down and was relieved to find that she was still in the same clothes. She cursed under her breath, she was still awake wasn’t she? In that moment, Elizabeth sincerely started to worry at the state of her own psyche.

Primitive Connor appeared through the trees a few feet in front, he walked towards her, his gait was rapacious laced seductively with dangerous intention. A scream bubbled up inside of her at the sight of his terrifying aboriginal face, something she had never felt the urge to do in a long long time. Despite her natural aversion to expressing fear so spectacularly, she let out a shriek and ran through the forest, twigs and branches snagged and whipped at her hair in some twisted bid to stop her. Heavy hands clamped down onto her shoulders from behind and she lashed out like a squealing ensnared, animal.

‘Elizabeth! What’s wrong?’

She spun around wildly and was back in the hold again, gasping with uncontrollable sobs. She sank to the floor and pulled her knees up in front of her and wrapped her arms around herself. She was overcome with shame and refused to meet his eye. An outside part of herself stared at her, incredulous at the strong young woman now nearly weeping on the floor like a traumatised six year old.

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered, shaking, ‘some dream, I’m seeing it again….I think I’m going mad.’

‘What dream?’

Elizabeth wouldn’t answer. Whether it was to do with the humiliation in what she felt was her weakness towards him, or perhaps what he had forced her to do in the dream itself she wasn’t sure. She strictly forbid herself from speaking of it, a paranoia set in of revealing to Connor of the power he had over her and it had seized her by the throat, even if it was only lodged in her subconscious the words would not come out all the same. She fixed her lips shut as tightly as a portcullis. She hated showing weakness, especially to someone as fatal as Connor.

The waking vision was troubling though, as far as she could remember she was never possessed with illusions of any kind, never had any impugnment tormenting her mind. The closest she could think of was when she last had a severe breakdown and that was….maybe it’s best not to go there now.

Connor placed his hands daintily on her forearms in comfort, and she shot back like a ricocheted bullet. He immediately held his hands back and when she looked up, his expression was worrying. ‘Elizabeth, I can’t leave you here like this. Can you get up?’

She hastily stood, feeling a little ridiculous and embarrassed. Her eyes darted everywhere in the hold, afraid that the forest may materialize again.

‘What happened? Why did you scream?’

‘You would think me mad Connor, you really would, I don’t know what’s going on with me.’

‘Maybe I could help.’ She stopped looking about and focused on him. In all truthfulness of the matter, he had been helping her without question so far, and all she had done was treat him with disrespect and distrust. For the second time since she woke up, she felt shitty as well as potentially demented. ‘I’m sorry for what I did to Benny, I didn’t mean to scare him. I honestly thought I was in Terrence’s possession when I woke up and I was trying to find a way to get off this ship when you showed up.’

His expression softened and a crook of a smile crept into his lips, it was kind of nice to look at. ‘I had a suspicion that was what had befallen you. What is that you dreamed of?’

‘I’d rather not say.’ He looked as though he wanted to press on with it but decided to refrain from further questioning. ‘Are you alright?’

Elizabeth shook her head in bewilderment, she didn’t know, she didn’t know herself right now. Screaming and running wasn’t really her thing and she was apprehensive of losing Connor’s respect over it.

‘I think so.’ The words didn’t sound convincing, not even to her.

He watched her scrupulously, mediating between two schools of thought sparring in his mind. He began to walk towards the holds exit. ‘Come. Perhaps the fresh air may help.’

She nodded numbly in response and they made their way up to the top deck. She squinted at the sunlight bearing down when they reached deck, and the air was cool and blew blissfully at her overheated flesh, her skin giving way to delectable goosebumps. Her room had been too hot and the hold had made her sticky with sweat and she absorbed the sensation with relieved appreciation.

She noticed members of the crew threw curious and irritated glances at her as they busied themselves about their chores, but she wasn’t surprised at their evasive behavior.

She asked Connor where her weapons and backpack were and he had told her they were stored in his quarters. It looked as though his trust hadn’t extended too far for her, something that she would probably need to work on now that she was stuck with him for the time being.

It struck her on board that the last time she had been on a ship was when she had pulled into Boston two years back. Goodness how things had changed since then, that time seemed like a completely different era to the one she was in now, like not just a new chapter but an entirely new book born with current concerns and pressuring matters. Her position had shifted. Back then, it was finding a job and a life in a place she hated. It was jittering over what her mother’s reaction would be to her sudden homecoming, and seeing her sisters all grown up and dealing with an emotional Eileen. Now it was to make sure that they didn’t come into harm because of the new enemies she had now accidentally acquired. She thought it funny how time almost progressed itself onward like a wave, settling affairs and raising fresh ones as it gushed on. She wondered if she lived on what it would be another two years from now, where will she be standing next brooding over?

She leaned against the banister, meditating fondly on the splashing and spouting of the water below, finding it’s cycles of gushing and retreating soothing. She looked down to see that Connor had taken over the wheel from the man she took to be his second-in-command. Connor had his hands clasped firmly on the handles, his downturned lips pouted and sculpted jaw transfixed in stern concentration, as he manoeuvred the vessel onwards to Davenport.

It could've been worse. He could’ve abandoned her to the mercy of Terrence and be on a ship with him right now, potentially listening to further attempts to get her to merge with him. Or she could be dead. Things hadn’t worked out as they had planned but she was still alive and Connor didn’t seem to be a bad ally to make. She still had questions for him though, but it would have to wait till later when they could establish a stable foundation of trust with one another.

The day eventually gave way to night. Elizabeth was in her room reflecting over her hallucination in the hold when the ship slowed to a halt, and shook as the anchor dropped into port. She left and headed upstairs, passing sailors that were gathering their belongings and hauling their bags onto their backs. She found Connor and his second-in-command convening in low voices beside a moving line of sailors, who were leaving the vessel via gangplank.

She looked around with vivid curiosity. In the dark, it was difficult to see anything but as her eyes adjusted and with the help of the moon which was now full, she could make out the distant silhouette of rolling hills that enfolded it’s arms around the port. The outlined shape of a tree line ran along the tops of them, just barely defined against the starry night sky, and she could see beyond the small jetty where the ship moored and that was lit with torches, were a few small workhouses. They dotted around the small port in loose formation and tools, logs and pieces of work in midway progress were littered around them. It was clear that it was a place of employment. Did Connor’s tenants work on the land too?

The moon reflected the dark water that lapped gently against the ship and jetty, and Elizabeth could see that Davenport was almost like a little cove, how the land hugged around the water protectively much to the point where it was nearly cut off from the sea. She got the impression of it being a private port and it’s natural  beauty was preserved from the harsh weather of the wide ocean. She imagined that it was very picturesque by day.

Elizabeth walked up to Connor who turned to her, somehow sensing her presence behind him.

‘Elizabeth, this is Robert Faulkner.’ She recognised the name the English man had mentioned to her earlier.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello yourself woman. That was some fine display you put on show for us earlier, I’m expecting we won’t be seeing any more trouble from you again.’ His voice was grouchy with little patience for her.

‘No,’ she replied curtly, suddenly wanting to be away from the huffy puffy man. She glanced down at Connor’s feet. ‘My backpack?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, and bent down to give it to her. Her sword was there too. ‘We’ll be heading up soon.’

‘Heading where?’ she asked, pulling her backpack on.

‘To the Davenport manor.’

‘I’m eh, staying there?’

‘Yes, I’ve sent word ahead for my housekeeper, Mary, to prepare a room for you. We’re at a late hour now but it’ll be ready by the time we arrive.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, feeling awkward and empty for words. Robert continued to regard her warily and she decided to make a silent exit. She followed the rest of the murmuring sailors down the gangplank who were eager to be home in their beds, wondering where she’d be taken next.


End file.
